2^-^ 


• 


FARM    LEGENDS 


BY    WILL    CARLETON 

AUTHOR    OF   "  FARM.    BALLADS" 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW     YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
In   the  Office  of  the  Librarian   of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


*  *     • '  •  •     ••••«'! 

*•  •         <  '•'    I  i •'',',/ 


TO 

THE   MEMORY   OF   A   NOBLEMAN, 

MY 
FARMER   FATHER. 


775700 


PREFACE. 


THE  "Farm  Ballads"  have  met  with  so  kind  and  general  a  recep 
tion  as  to  encourage  the  publishing  of  a  companion  volume. 

In  this  book,  also,  the  author  has  aimed  to  give  expression  to  the 
truth,  that  with  every  person,  even  if  humble  or  debased,  there  may  be 
some  good,  worth  lifting  up  and  saving ;  that  in  each  human  being,  though 
revered  and  seemingly  immaculate,  are  some  faults  which  deserve  pointing 
out  and  correcting;  and  that  all  circumstances  of  life,  however  trivial  they 
appear,  may  possess  those  alternations  of  the  comic  and  pathetic,  the  good 
and  bad,  the  joyful  and  sorrowful,  upon  which  walk  the  days  and  nights, 
the  summers  and  winters,  the  lives  and  deaths,  of  this  strange  world. 

He  would  take  this  occasion  to  give  a  word  of  thanks  to  those  who 
have  staid  with  him  through  evil  and  good  report;  who  have  overlooked 
his  literary  faults  for  the  sake  of  the  truths  he  was  struggling  to  tell ;  and 
who  have  believed — what  he  knows — that  he  is  honest. 

With  these  few  words  of  introduction,  the  author  launches  this  sec 
ond  bark  upon  the  sea  of  popular  opinion  ;  grinds  his  axe,  and  enters  once 
more  the  great  forest  of  Human  Nature,  for  timber  to  go  on  with  his  boat 
building. 

W.  C. 


CONTENTS. 


FARM  LEGENDS. 

PACK 

The  School-master's  Guests 1 V 

Three  Links  of  a  Life 26 

Rob,  the  Pauper 40 

The  Three  Lovers 51 

The  Song  of  Home 65 

PauVs  run  off  with  the  Show 69 

The  Key  to  Thomas'1  Heart 73 

The  Doctor's  Story 76 

The  Christmas  Baby 80 


OTHER  POEMS. 

Cover  them  Over 8*7 

Rifts  in  the  Cloud 92 

Some  Time 100 

Brothers  and  Friends 103 

Gone  Before 109 

The  Little  Sleeper Ill 

'Tis  Snowing 113 

The  Burning  of  Chicago 115 

The  Railroad  Holocaust 123 

The  Cable 125 

Ship  "  City  of  Boston" 127 

The  Good  of  the  Future 129 

The  Joys  that  are  Left 130 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAOB 

"They  stood  in  the  Shade  of  the  western  Door" Frontispiece. 

"A  Class  in  the  Front,  with  their  Readers,  were  telling,  with  difficult  Pains" 19 

"And  nodded  olliquely,  and  muttered,  '•Them  'ere  is  my  Sentiments  tew'" 23 

"  When  grave  Saw  Beese,  the  Indian  Chief,  had  leaded  the  Neck  of  the  pale-face  Miss  "  28 

"Hiding  e'en  from  the  Dark  Ms  Face 35 

"E'en  in  your  Desolation  you  are  not  quite  unblest" 38 

u  Himself  on  the  Door-stone  idly  sitting  " 42 

"He  runs  and  stumbles,  leaps  and  clamper*" 46 

Rol),  the  Pauper 50 

"And  Bess  said,  ''Keep  still,  for  there's  Plenty  of  Boom  "' 55 

" Several  Times  he,  with  Policy  stern,  repressed  a  Desire  to  break  out  of  the  Churn'1'..  5? 

"And  there  his  plump  Limbs  through  the  Orifice  swung  " 60 

"Alice,  the  country  Maiden,  with  the  sweet  loving  Face    64 

"My  Boy!  come  in!  come  in!" 71 

"I  threw  them  as  far  as  I  could  throw" 78 

The  Christmas  Baby 80,  81,  82,  83 

"  They  who  in  Mountain  and  Hill-side  and  DelV 90 

Some  Time 100 

"And  loudly  wild  Accents  of  Terror  came  pealing  from  Thousands  of  Throats'" 119 

Ship  "City  of  Boston" 127 


FARM  LEGENDS. 


FARM  LEGENDS. 


THE   SCHOOL-MASTER'S    GUESTS. 


THE  district  school-master  was  sitting  behind  his  great  book-laden  desk, 
Close-watching  the  motions  of  scholars,  pathetic  and  gay  and  grotesque. 

As  whisper  the  half-leafless  branches,  when  Autumn's  brisk  breezes  have 

come, 
His  little  scrub-thicket  of  pupils  sent  upward  a  half-smothered  hum. 

Like  the  frequent  sharp  bang  of  a  wagon,  when  treading  a  forest  path  o'er, 
Resounded  the  feet  of  his  pupils,  whenever  their  heels  struck  the  floor. 

There  was  little  Tom  Timms  on  the  front  seat,  whose  face  was  with 
standing  a  drouth  • 

And  jolly  Jack  Gibbs  just  behind  him,  with:  a;  Vainy./ew  rptfcjfi  for  a 
mouth.  v>  '  ,  ,  ••„  «.  ->  »  • 

There  were  both  of  the  Smith  boys,  as  studious  as  if  they  bore  names 

that  could  bloom ; 
And  Jim  Jones,  a  heaven-built  mechanic,  the  slyest  young  knave  in  the 

room, 

With  a  countenance  grave  as  a  horse's,  and  his  honest  eyes  fixed  on  a 

pin, 

Queer-bent  on  a  deeply  laid  project  to  tunnel  Joe  Hawkins's  skin. 

2 


xg  Farm  Legends. 

There  were  anxious  young  novices,  drilling  their  spelling-books  into  the 

brain, 
Loud-puffing  each  half-whispered  letter,  like   an  engine  just  starting  its 

train. 

There  was  one  fiercely  muscular  fellow,  who  scowled  at  the  sums  on  his 

slate, 
And  leered  at  the  innocent  figures  a  look  of  unspeakable  hate, 

And  set  his  white  teeth  close  together,  and  gave  his  thin  lips  a  short, 

twist, 
As   to   say,  "I   could  whip   you,  confound    you!    could   such  things  be 

done  with  the  fist !" 

There  were  two  knowing  girls  in  the  corner,  each  one  with  some  beauty 

possessed, 
In  a  whisper  discussing  the  problem  which  one  the  young  master  likes 

best. 

A  class  in  the  front,  with  their  readers,  were  telling,  with  difficult  pains, 
How  perished  brave  Marco  Bozzaris  while  bleeding  at  all  of  his  veins; 

And  a  boy  on  the  floor  to  be  punished,  a  statue  of  idleness  stood, 
Making  faces  at  all  of  the  others,  and  enjoying  the  scene  all  he  could. 


ii. 

Around;  Vy^re  tli-p'  \jri)]-Is  ;gray  and  dingy,  which  every  old  school-sanctum 

/*?*.'•'  :'•';'•/•:::   .'.'  '*', 
With'<<m^ny^a'.tre-\k,oii'''ibeA'r  surface,  where  grinned  a  wood-grating  of 

lath. 

A  patch  of  thick  plaster,  just  over  the  school-master's  rickety  chair, 
Seemed  threat'ningly  o'er  him  suspended,  like  Damocles'  sword,  by  a  hair. 

There  were  tracks   on   the   desks  where   the  knife-blades  had  wandered 

in  search  of  their  prey  ; 
Their  tops  were  as  duskily  spattered  as  if  they  drank  ink  every  day. 


The  School-masters  Guests.  21 

The  square  stove  it  puffed  and  it  crackled,  and  broke  out  in  red-flaming 

sores, 
Till  the  great  iron  quadruped  trembled  like  a  dog  fierce  to  rush  out-o'- 

doors. 

White  snow-flakes  looked  in  at  the  windows ;  the  gale  pressed  its  Jips  to 

the  cracks ; 
And  the  children's  hot  faces  were  streaming,  the  while  they  were  freezing 

their  backs. 


IIL 

Now  Marco  Bozzaris  had  fallen,  and  all  of  his  suff'rings  were  o'er, 
And  the  class  to  their  seats  were  retreating,  when   footsteps  were  heard 
at  the  door ; 

And  five  of  the  good  district  fathers  marched  into  the  room  in  a  row, 
And   stood   themselves   up    by  the    hot  fire,  and  shook  off  their   white 
cloaks  of  snow  ; 

And  the  spokesman,  a  grave  squire  of  sixty,  with  countenance  solemnly 

sad, 
Spoke  thus,  while  the  children  all  listened,  with  all  of  the  ears  that  they 

had: 

"  We've    come    here,  school-master,  intendin'    to    cast   an    inquirin'    eye 

'round, 
Concernin'  complaints  that's  been  entered,  an'  fault  that  has  lately  been 

found ; 

To  pace  off  the  width  of  your  doin's,  an'  witness  what  you've  been  about, 
An'  see  if  it's  payin'  to  keep  you,  or  whether  we'd  best  turn  ye  out. 

"  The  first  thing  I'm  bid  for  to  mention  is,   when  the  class  gets   up   to 

read, 

You  give  'em  too  tight  of  a  reinin',  an'  touch  'em  up  more  than  they  need; 
You're  nicer  than  wise  in  the  matter  of  holdin'  the  book  in  one  han', 
An'  you  turn  a  stray  g  in  their  doin's,  an'  tack  an   odd  d  on  their  a?V. 
There  ain't  no  great  good  comes  of  speakin'  the  words  so  polite,  as  /see, 
Providin'  you  know  what  the  facts  is,  an'  tell  'em  off  jest  as  they  be. 


22  Farm  Legends. 

An'   then    there's   that   read  in'    in   corncert,   is  censured   from    first   unto 

last; 

It  kicks  up  a  heap  of  a  racket,  when  folks  is  a-travelin'  past. 
Whatever  is  done  as  to  readin',  providin'  things  go  to  my  say, 
Shn'n't  hang  on   no  new-fangled  hinges,  but  swing  in  the  old-fashioned 

way.11 

And  the  other  four  good  district  fathers  gave  quick  the  consent  that  was 

due, 
And  nodded  obliquely,  and  muttered,  "  Them  'ere  is  my  sentiments  tew." 

"  Then,  as  to  your  spellin' :  I've  heern  tell,  by  them  as  has  looked  into 

this, 
That  you  turn  the  u  out  o'  your  labour,  an'  make  the  word  shorter  than 

'tis; 

An'  clip  the  k  off  o'  yer  musick,  which  makes  my  son  Ephraim  perplexed, 
An'   when    he   spells   out  as  he  ought'r,  you   pass  the   word  on  to   the 

next. 
They  say  there's  some  new-grafted  books  here  that  don't  take  them  letters 

along ; 

But  if  it  is  so,  just  depend  on't,  them  new-grafted  books  is  made  wrong. 
You  might  just  as  well  say  that  Jackson  didn't  know  all  there  was  about 

war, 
As  to  say  that  old  Spellin'-book  Webster  didn't  know  what  them  letters 

was  for." 

And  the  other  four  good  district  fathers  gave  quick  the  consent  that  was 

due, 
And    scratched    their    heads    slyly    and    softly,   and    said,    "Them's  my 

sentiments  tew.'1'1 

"Then,  also,  your  'rithrnetic  doin's,  as  they  are  reported  to  me, 

Is  that  you  have  left  Tare  an'  Tret  out,  an'  also  the  old  Eule  o'  Three; 

An'   likewise   brought   in    a   new   study,  some  high-steppin'    scholars   to 

please, 

With  saw-bucks  an'  crosses  and  pot-hooks,  an'  w's,  x,  ?/'s,  and  z's. 
We  ain't  got  no  time  for  such   foolin' ;   there  ain't  no  great  good  to   be 

reached 
By  tiptoein'  childr'n  up  higher  than  ever  their  fathers  was  teached." 


The  School-masters  Guests.  25 

And  the  other  four  good  district  fathers  gave  quick  the  consent  that  was 

due, 
And  cocked  one  eye  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  said,  "  Them's  my  sentiments  tew" 

"  Another  thing,  I  must  here  mention,  comes  into  the  question  to-day, 
Concernin'  some  things  in  the  grammar  you're  teachin'  our  gals  for  to  say. 
My  gals  is  as  steady  as  clock-work,  an'  never  give  cause  for  much  fear, 
But  they  come  home  from  school  t'other  evenin'   a-talkin'  such  stuff  as 

this  here  : 
'/  lov^  an'  '  Thou  lovest?  an'  ' He  loves?  an'  'Ye  love,'  an'   'You  love,'  an' 

'  They— ' 
An'  they  answered  my  questions,  '  It's  grammar' — 'twas  all  I  could  get 

'em  to  say. 

Now  if,  'stead  of  doin'  your  duty,  you're  carryin'  matters  on  so 
As  to  make  the  gals  say  that  they  love  you,  it's  just  all  that  /  want  to 

know 


IV. 

Now  Jim,  the  young  heaven-built  mechanic,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening 

before, 
Had  well-nigh  unjointed  the  stove-pipe,  to  make  it  come  down  on  the 

floor ; 

And  the  squire  bringing  smartly  his  foot  down,  as  a  clincher  to  what  he 

had  said, 
A  joint  of  the  pipe  fell  upon  him,  and  larruped  him  square  on  the  head. 

The  soot  flew  in  clouds  all  about  him,  and  blotted  with  black  all  the  place, 
And  the  squire  and  the  other  four  fathers  were  peppered  with  black  in 
the  face. 

The  school,  ever  sharp  for  amusement,  laid  down  all  their  cumbersome 

books, 
And,  spite  of  the  teacher's  endeavors,  laughed  loud  at  their  visitors'  looks. 

And  the  squire,  as  he  stalked  to  the  doorway,  swore  oaths  of  a  violet  hue ; 
And  the  four  district  fathers,  who  followed,  seemed  to  say,  "  Them's  my 
sentiments  tew" 


26 


Farm  Legends. 


THREE  LINKS  OF  A  LIFE. 


A  WORD  went  over  the  hills  and  plains 

Of  the  scarce-hewn  fields  that  the  Tiffin  drains, 

Through  dens  of  swamps  arid  jungles  of  trees, 

As  if  it  were  borne  by  the  buzzing  bees 

As  something  sweet  for  the  sons  of  men  ; 

Or  as  if  the  blackbird  and  the  wren 

Had  lounged  about  each  ragged  clearing 

To  gossip  it  in  the  settlers'  hearing; 

Or  the  partridge  drum-corps  of  the  wood 

Had  made  the  word  by  mortals  heard, 

And  Diana  made  it  understood  ; 

Or  the  loud-billed  hawk  of  giant  sweep 

Were  told  it  as  something  he  must  keep; 

As  now,  in  the  half-built  city  of  Lane, 

Where  the  sons  of  the  settlers  strive  for  gain, 

Where  the  Indian  trail  is  graded  well, 

And  the  anxious  ring  of  the  engine-bell 

And  the  Samson  Steam's  deep,  stuttering  word 

And  the  factory's  dinner-horn  are  heard  ; 

Where  burghers  fight,  in  friendly  guise, 

With  spears  of  bargains  and  shields  of  lies; 

Where  the  sun-smoked  farmer,  early  a-road, 

Rides  into  the  town  his  high-built  load 

Of  wood  or  wool,  or  corn  or  wheat, 

And  stables  his  horses  in  the  street; — 

It  seems  as  to  each  and  every  one 

A  deed  were  known  ere  it  well  be  done, 


f — ~~ 


Three  Links  of  a  Life.  29 

As  if,  in  spite  of  roads  or  weather, 

All  minds  were  whispering  together; 

So  over  the  glens  and  rough  hill-sides 

Of  the  fruitful  land  where  the  Tiffin  glides, 

Went  the  startling  whisper,  clear  and  plain, 

"  Therds  a  new-born  laby  over  at  Lane  /" 

Now  any  time,  from  night  till  morn, 

Or  morn  till  night,  for  a  long  time-flight, 

Had  the  patient  squaws  their  children  borne; 

And  many  a  callow,  coppery  wight 

Had  oped  his  eyes  to  the  tree-flecked  light, 

And  grown  to  the  depths  of  the  woodland  dell 

And  the  hunt  of  the  toilsome  hills  as  well 

As  though  at  his  soul  a  bow  were  slung, 

And  a  war-whoop  tattooed  on  his  tongue ; 

But  never  before,  in  the  Tiffin's  sight, 

Had  a  travail  bloomed  with  a  blossom  of  white, 

And  the  fire-tanned  logger  no  longer  pressed 
His  yoke-bound  steeds  and  his  furnace  fire ; 
And  the  gray -linked  log-chain  drooped  to  rest, 
And  a  hard  face  softened  with  sweet  desire: 
And  the  settler-housewife,  rudely  wise, 
With  the  forest's  shrewdness  in  her  eyes, 
Yearned,  with  tenderly  wondering  brain, 
For  the  new-born  baby  over  at  Lane. 

And  the  mother  lay  in  her  languid  bed, 

When  the  flock  of  visitors  had  fled— 

When  the  crowd  of  settlers  all  had  gone, 

And  left  the  young  lioness  alone 

With  the  tiny  cub  they  had  come  to  see 

In  the  rude-built  log  menagerie; 

When  grave  Baw  Beese,  the  Indian  chief, 

As  courtly  as  ever  prince  in  his  prime, 

Or  cavalier  of  the  olden  time, 

Making  his  visit  kind  as  brief, 

Had  beaded  the  neck  of  the  pale-face  miss, 


Farm  Legends. 

And  dimpled  her  cheek  with  a  farewell  kiss; 
When  the  rough-clad  room  was  still  as  sleek, 
Save  the  deaf  old  nurse's  needle-click, 
The  beat  of  the  grave  clock  in  its  place, 
With  its  ball-tipped  tail  and  owl-like  face, 
And  the  iron  tea-kettle's  droning  song 
Through  its  Roman  nose  so  black  and  long, 
The  mother  lifted  her  baby's  head, 
And  gave  it  a  clinging  kiss,  and  said  : 

Why  did  thou  come  so  straight  to  me, 

Thou  queer  one  ? 
Thou  might  have  gone  where  riches  be, 

Thou  dear  one ! 

For  when  'twas  talked  about  in   heaven. 
To  whom  the  sweet  soul  should  be  given, 
If  thou  had  raised  thy  pretty  voiqe, 
God  sure  had  given  to  thee  a  choice, 

My  dear  one,  my  queer  one  I 

"  Babe  in  the  wood"  thou  surely  art, 

My  lone  one : 
But  thou  shalt  never  play  the  part, 

My  own  one ! 

Thou  ne'er  shalt  wander  up  and  down, 
With  none  to  claim  thee  as  their  own ; 
Nor  shall  the  Redbreast,  as  she  grieves, 
Make  up  for  thee  a  bed  of  leaves, 

My  own  one,  my  lone  one ! 

Although  thou  be  not  Riches'  flower, 

Thou  neat  one, 
Yet  thou  hast  come  from  Beauty's  bower, 

Thou  sweet  one ! 

Thy  every  smile's  as  warm  and  bright 
As  if  a  diamond  mocked  its  light; 
Thy  every  tear's  as  pure  a  pearl 
As  if  thy  father  was  an  earl, 

Thou  neat  one,  thou  sweet  one! 


Three  Links  of  a  Life.  31 

And  thou  shalt  have  a  queenly  name, 

Thou  grand  one  : 
A  lassie's  christening's  half  her  fame, 

Thou  bland  one ! 

And  may  thou  live  so  good  and  true, 
The  honor  will  but  be  thy  due; 
And  friends  shall  never  be  ashamed, 
Or  when  or  where  they  hear  thee  named, 

Thou  bland  one,  thou  grand  one ! 

E'en  like  the  air — our  rule  and  sport — 

Thou  meek  one, 
Thou  art  my  burden  and  support, 

Thou  weak  one ! 
Like  manna  in  the  wilderness, 
A  joy  hath  come  to  soothe  and  bless ; 
But  'tis  a  sorrow  unto  me, 
To  love  as  I  am  loving  thee, 

Thou  weak  one,  thou  meek  one ! 

The  scarlet-coated  child-thief  waits, 

Thou  bright  one, 
To  bear  thee  through  the  sky-blue  gates, 

Thou  light  one ! 

His  feverish  touch  thy  brow  may  pain, 
And  while  I  to  my  sad  lips  strain 
The  sheath  of  these  bright-beaming  eyes, 
The  blade  may  flash  back  to  the  skies, 

Thou  light  one,  thou  bright  one ! 

And  if  thou  breast  the  morning  storm, 

Thou  fair  one, 
And  gird  a  woman's  thrilling  form, 

Thou  rare  one : 

Sly  hounds  of  sin  thy  path  will  trace, 
And  on  thy  unsuspecting  face 
Hot  lust  will  rest  its  tarnished  eyes, 
And  thou  wilt  need  be  worldly-wise, 

Thou  rare  one,  thou  fair  one ! 


32  Farm  Legends. 

O  that  the  heaven  that  smiles  to-day, 

My  blest  one, 
May  give  thee  light  to  see  thy  way, 

My  best  one  I 

That  when  around  thee  creeps  The  Gloom, 
The  gracious  God  will  call  thee  home, 
And  then,  increased  a  hundredfold, 
Thou  proudly  hand  Him  back  His  gold, 
My  best  one,  my  blest  one ! 


n. 

A  word  went  over  the  many  miles 

Of  the  well-tilled  land  where  the  Tiffin  smiles, 

And  sought  no  youthful  ear  in  vain  : 

"  There's  a  wedding  a-coming  off  at  Lane  /" 

They  stood  in  the  shade  of  the  western  door — 

Father,  mother,  and  daughter  one — 

And  gazed,  as  they  oft  had  gazed  before, 

At  the  downward  glide  of  the  western  sun. 

The  rays  of  his  never-jealous  light 

Made  even  the  cloud  that  dimmed  him  bright; 

And  lower  he  bent,  and  kissed,  as  he  stood, 

The  lips  of  the  distant  blue-eyed  wood. 

And  just  as  the  tired  sun  bowed  his  head, 
The  sun-browned  farmer  sighed,  and  said  : 

And  so  you'll  soon  be  goin'  away, 

My  darling  little  Bess; 
And  you  ha'  been  to  the  store  to-day, 

To  buy  your  weddin'-dress ; 

And  so  your  dear  good  mother  an'  I, 
Whose  love  you  long  have  known, 

Must  lay  the  light  o'  your  presence  by, 
And  walk  the  road  alone. 


Three  Links  of  a  Life.  33 

So  come  to-night,  with  mother  and  me, 

To  the  porch  for  an  hour  or  two, 
And  sit  on  your  old  father's  knee, 

The  same  as  you  used  to  do ; 

For  we,  who  ha'  loved  you  many  a  year, 

And  clung  to  you,  strong  and  true, 
Since  we've  had  the  young  Professor  here, 

Have  not  had  much  of  vou  ! 

But  lovers  be  lovers  while  earth  endures; 

And  once  on  a  time,  be  it  known, 
/  helped  a  girl  with  eyes  like  yours 

Construct  a  world  of  our  own ; 

And  we  laid  it  out  in  a  garden  spot, 

And  dwelt  in  the  midst  of  flowers, 
Till  we  found  that  the  world  was  a  good-sized  lot, 

And  most  of  it  wasn't  ours ! 

You're  heavier,  girl,  than  when  you  come 

To  us  one  cloudy  day, 
And  seemed  to  feel  so  little  at  home, 

We  feared  you  wouldn't  stay ; 

Till  I  knew  the  danger  was  passed,  because 

You'd  struck  so  mortal  a  track, 
And  got  so  independent  an'  cross, 

God  never  would  let  you  back ! 

But  who  would  ever  ha'  had  the  whim, 

When  you  lay  in  my  arms  an'  cried, 
You'd  some  time  sit  here,  pretty  an'  prim, 

A-waitin'  to  be  a  bride! 

But  lovers  be  lovers  while  earth  goes  on, 

And  marry,  as  they  ought; 
And  if  you  would  keep  the  heart  you've  won, 

Remember  what  you've  been  taught : 
3 


Farm  Legends. 

Look  first  that  your  wedded  lives  be  true, 
With  naught  from  each  other  apart; 

For  the  flowers  of  true  love  never  grew 
In  the  soil  of  a  faithless  heart. 

Look  next  that  the  buds  of  health  shall  rest 
Their  blossoms  upon  your  cheek  : 

For  life  and  love  are  a  burden  at  best 
If  the  body  be  sick  and  weak. 

Look  next  that  your  kitchen  fire  be  bright, 
And  your  hands  be  neat  and  skilled  ; 

For  the  love  of  man  oft  takes  its  flight 
If  his  stomach  be  not  well  filled. 

Look  next  that  your  money  is  fairly  earned 

Ere  ever  it  be  spent ; 
For  comfort  and  love,  however  turned, 

AVill  ne'er  pay  ten  per  cent. 

And,  next,  due  care  and  diligence  keep 
That  the  mind  be  trained  and  fed  ; 

For  blessings  ever  look  shabby  and  cheap 
That  light  on  an  empty  head. 

And  if  it  shall  please  the  gracious  God 

That  children  to  you  belong, 
Remember,  my  child,  and  spare  the  rod 

Till  you've  taught  them  right  and  wrong ; 

And  show  'em  that  though  this  life's  a  start 

O 

For  the  better  world,  no  doubt, 
Yet  earth  an'  heaven  ain't  so  far  apart 
As  many  good  folks  make  out. 


in. 

A  word  went  over  the  broad  hill-sweeps 
Of  the  listening  land  where  the  Tiffin  creeps 


Three  Links  of  a  Life. 

"She  married,  holding  on  high  her  head; 
But  the  groom  was  false  as  the  vows  he  said ; 
With  lies  and  crimes  his  days  are  checked; 
The  girl  is  alone,  and  her  life  is  wrecked" 

The  midnight  rested  its  heavy  arm 

Upon  the  grief-encumbered  farm  ; 

And  hoarse-voiced  Sorrow  wandered  at  will, 

Like  a  moan  when  the  summer's  night  is  still 


HIDING    E'EN    FROM    THE    DARK    HIS    FACE." 


And  the  spotted  cows,  with  bellies  of  white, 
And  well-filled  teats  all  crowded  awry, 
Stood  in  the  black  stalls  of  the  night, 
Nor  herded  nor  milked,  and  wondered  wl^. 
And  the  house  was  gloomy,  still,  and  cold ; 
And  the  hard-palmed  farmer,  newly  old, 
Sat  in  an  unfrequented  place, 
Hiding  e'en  from  the  dark  his  face ; 
And  a  solemn  silence  rested  long 
On  all,  save  the  cricket's  dismal  song. 

But  the  mother  drew  the  girl  to  her  breast, 
And  gave  to  her  spirit  words  of  rest : 


36  Farm  Legends. 

Come  to  my  lap,  my  wee-grown  baby  ;  rest  thee  upon  my  knee ; 

You  have  been  traveling  toward  the  light,  and  drawing  away  from  me  ; 

You  turned  your  face  from  my  dark  path  to  catch  the  light  o'  the  sun, 

And  'tis  no  more  nor 'less,  my  child,  than  children  ever  have  done. 

So  you  joined    hands   with   one   you    loved,  when  we  to  the  cross-road 

came,  • 
And   went   your    way,   as    Heaven    did    say,   and   who    but    Heaven    to 

Blame? 

You  must  ngt  weep  that  he  you  chose  was  all  the  time  untrue, 
Or  stab  with  hate  the  man  whose  heart  you  thought  was  made  for  you. 
The  love  God  holds  for  your  bright  soul  is  more  to  get  and  give 
Than  all  the  love  of  all  of  the  men  while'  He  may  bid  them  live. 
So  let  your  innocence  stanch  the  wound  made  by  another's  guilt ; 
For  Vengeance'  blade  was  ever  made  with  neither  guard  nor  hilt. 

AVho  will  avenge  you,  darling?     The  sun  that  shines  on  high. 

He  will  paint  the  picture  of  your  wrongs  before  the  great  world's  eye. 

He  will  look  upon  your  sweet  soul,  in  its  pure  mantle  of  white, 

Till  it  shine  upon  your  enemies,  and  dazzle  all  their  sight. 

He'll  come  each  day  to  point  his  ringer  at  him  who  played  the  knave ; 

And  'tis  denied  from  him  to  hide,  excepting  in  the  grave. 

Who  will  avenge  you,  darling?     Your  sister,  the  sky  above. 
Each  cloud  she  floats  above  you  shall  be  a  token  of  love ; 
She  will  bend  o'er  you  at  night-fall  her  pure  broad  breast  of  blue, 
And  every  gem  that  glitters  there  shall  flash  a  smile  to  you. 
And  all  her  great  wide  distances  to  your  good  name  belong ; 
'Tis  not  so  far  from  star  to  star  as  'twixt  the  right  and  wrong. 

AVho  will  avenge  you,  darling?     All  the  breezes  that  blow. 
They  will  whisper  to  each  other  your  tale  of  guiltless  woe ; 
The  perfumes  that  do  load  them  your  innocence  shall  bless, 
And  they  will  soothe  your  aching  brow  with  pitying,  kind  caress. 
They  will  sweep  away  the  black  veil  that  hangs  about  your  fame: 
There  is  no  cloud  that  long  can  shroud  a  virtuous  woman's  name. 

Who  will  avenge  you,  darling?     The  one  who  proved  untrue. 
His  memory  must  undo  him,  whate'er  his  will  may  do; 


Three  Links  of  a  Life. 


39 


The  pitch-black  night  will  come  when  he  must  rnect  Remorse  alone  ; 

He  will  rush  at  your  avenging  as  if  it  were  his  own. 

His  every  sin  is  but  a  knot  that  yet  shall  hold  him  fast ; 

For  guilty  hands  but  twine  the  strands  that  fetter  them  at  last. 

Lay  thee  aside  thy  grief,  darling ! — lay  thee  aside  thy  grief! 

And  Happiness  will  cheer  thee  beyond  all  thy  belief! 

As  oft  as  winter  comes  summer,  as  sure  as  night  comes  day, 

And  as  swift  as  sorrow  corneth,  so  swift  it  goeth  away ! 

E'en  in  your  desolation  you  are  not  quite  unblest  : 

Not  all  who  choose  may  count  their  woes  upon  a  mother's  breast. 


4O  Farm  Legends. 


ROB,  THE  PAUPER. 

ROB,  the  Pauper,  is  loose  again. 

Through  the  fields  and  woods  he  races. 
He  shuns  the  women,  he  beats  the  men, 

He  kisses  the  children's  frightened  faces. 
There  is  no  mother  he  hath  not  fretted ; 
There  is  no  child  he  hath  not  petted ; 
There  is  no  house,  by  road  or  lane, 
He  did  not  tap  at  the  window-pane, 
And  make  more  dark  the  dismal  night, 
And  set  the  faces  within  with  white. 

Rob,  the  Pauper,  is  wild  of  eye, 

Wild  of  speech,  and  wild  of  thinking; 
Over  his  forehead  broad  and  high, 

Each  with  each  wild  locks  are  linking. 
Yet  there  is  something  in  his  bearing 
Not  quite  what  a  pauper  should  be  wearing  : 
In  every  step  is  a  shadow  of  grace ; 
The  ghost  of  a  beauty  haunts  his  face  ; 
The  rags  half-sheltering  him  to-day 
Hang  not  on  him  in  a  beggarly  way. 

Rob,  the  Pauper,  is  crazed  of  brain  : 

The  world  is  a  lie  to  his  shattered  seeming. 

No  woman  is  true  unless  insane ; 

No  man  but  is  full  of  lecherous  scheming. 

Woe  to  the  wretch,  of  whate'er  callin^. 

O) 

That  crouches  beneath  his  cudgel's  falling ! 

Pity  the  wife,  howe'er  high-born, 

Who  wilts  beneath  his  words  of  scorn  ! 

But  youngsters  he  caresses  as  wild 

As  a  mother  would  kiss  a  rescued  child. 


Rob,  the  Pauper.  43 

He  hath  broke  him  loose  from  his  poor-house  ceil ; 

He  hath  dragged  him  clear  from  rope  and  fetter. 
They  might  have  thought ;   for  they  know  full  well 

They  could  keep  a  half-caged  panther  better, 
Few  are  the  knots  so  strategy-shunning 
That  they  can  escape  his  maniac  cunning; 
Many  a  stout  bolt  strives  in  vain 
To  bar  his  brawny  shoulders'  strain  ; 
The  strongest  men  in  town  agree 
That  the  Pauper  is  good  for  any  three. 

He  hath  crossed  the  fields,  the  woods,  the  street : 
He  hides  in  the  swamp  his  wasted  feature; 

The  frog  leaps  over  his  bleeding  feet; 

The  turtle  crawls  from  the  frightful  creature. 

The  loud  mosquito,  hungry-flying, 

For  his  impoverished  blood  is  crying; 

The  scornful  hawk's  loud  screaming  sneer 

Falls  painfully  upon  his  ear; 

And  close  to  his  un startled  eye 

The  rattlesnake  creeps  noisily  by. 

He  hath  fallen  into  a  slough  of  sleep. 

A  haze  of  the  past  bends  softly  o'er  him. 
His  restless  spirit  a  watch  doth  keep, 

As  Memory's  canvas  glides  before  him. 
Through  slumber's  distances  he  travels ; 
The  tangled  skein  of  his  mind  unravels ; 
The  bright  past  dawns  through  a  cloud  of  dreams, 
And  once  again  in  his  prime  he  seems ; 
For  or;er  his  heart's  lips,  as  a  kiss, 
Sweepeth  a  vision  like  to  this  : 

A  cozy  kitchen,  a  smooth-cut  lawn, 

A  zephyr  of  flowers  in  the  bright  air  straying; 

A  graceful  child,  as  fresh  as  dawn, 

Upon  the  greensward  blithely  playing ; 

Himself  on  the  door-stone  idly  sitting, 

A  blonde-haired  woman  about  him  flitting. 


. ,  Farm  Legends. 

She  fondly  stands  beside  him  there, 
And  deftly  toys  with  his  coal-black  hair, 
And  hovers  about  him  with  her  eyes, 
And  whispers  to  him,  pleading-wise: 

0  Rob,  why  will  you  plague  my  heart?  why  will  you  try  me  so? 
Is  she  so  fair,  is  she  so  sweet,  that  you  must  need  desert  me? 

1  saw  you  kiss  her  twice  and  thrice  behind  the  maple  row, 
And  each  caress  you  gave  to  her  did  like  a  dagger  hurt  me. 

Why  should  for  her  and  for  her  smiles  your  heart  a  moment  hunger? 

What  though  her  shape  be  trim  as  mine,  her  face  a  trifle  younger? 

She  does  not  look  so  young  to  you  as  I  when  we  were  wed; 

She  can  not  speak  more  sweet  to  you  than  words  that  I  have  said  ; 

She  can  not  love  you  half  so  well  as  I,  when  all  is  done  ; 

And  she  is  not  your  wedded  wife — the  mother  of  your 


son. 


O  Rob,  you  smile  and  toss  your  head  ;  you  mock  me  in  your  soul ; 

You  say  I  would  be  overwise — that  I  am  jealous  of  you  ; 
And  what  if  mv  tight-bended  heart  should  spring  beyond  control  ? 

Mv  jealous  tongue  but  tells  the  more  the  zeal  with  which  I  love  you. 
Oh,  we  might  be  so  peaceful  here,  with  nothing  of  reproving ! 
Oh,  we  might  be  so  happy  here,  with  none  to  spoil  our  loving! 
Why  should  a  joy  be  more  a  joy  because,  forsooth,  'tis  hid? 
How  can  a  kiss  be  more  a  kiss  because  it  is  forbid  ? 
Why  should  the  love  you  get  from  her  be  counted  so  much  gain, 
When  every  smile  you  give  to  her  but  adds  unto  my  pain  ? 

O  Rob,  you  say  there  is  no  guilt  betwixt  the  girl  and  you  : 

Do    you    not   know   how   slack   of  vows  may   break    the   bond   that's 

dearest  ? 
You  twirl  a  plaything  in  your  hand,  not  minding  what  you  do, 

And    first    you    know    it   flies    from   you,  and    strikes   the    one   that's 

nearest. 

So  do  not  spoil  so  hopelessly  you  ne'er  may  cease  your  ruing; 
The  finger-post  of  weakened  vows  points  only  to  undoing. 
Remember  there  are  years  to  come,  and  there  are  thorns  of  woe 
That  you  may  grasp  if  once  you  let  the  flowers  of  true  love  go 
Remember  the  increasing  bliss  of  marriage  undefiled  ; 
Remember  all  the  pride  or  shame  that  waits  for  yonder  child  ! 


"  HE    RUNS    AND    STUMBLES,   LEAPS    AND    CLAMBERS, 

THROUGH    THE    DENSE    THICKET'S    BREATHLESS   CHAMBERS. 


Rob,  the  Pauper.  47 

n. 

Eob,  the  Pauper,  awakes  and  runs; 

A  clamor  corneth  clear  and  clearer. 
They  are  hunting  him  with  dogs  and  guns; 

They  are  every  moment  pressing  nearer. 
Through  pits  of  stagnant  pools  he  pushes, 
Through  the  thick  sumac's  poison  bushes  ; 
He  runs  and  stumbles,  leaps  and  clambers, 
Through  the  dense  thicket's  breathless  chambers. 
The  swamp-slime  stains  at  his  bloody  tread  ; 
The  tamarack  branches  rasp  his  head. 

From  bog  to  bog,  and  from  slough  to  slough, 

He  flees,  but  his  foes  come  yelling  nearer ; 
And  ever  unto  his  senses  now 

The  long-drawn  bay  of  the  hounds  is  clearer. 
He  is  worn  and  worried,  hot  and  panting; 
He  staggers  at  every  footstep's  planting ; 
The  hot  blood  races  through  his  brain  ; 
His  every  breath  is  a  twinge  of  pain  ; 
Black  shadows  dance  before  his  eyes ; 
The  echoes  mock  his  agonv-cries. 


They  have  hunted  him  to  the  open  field  ; 

He  is  falling  upon  their  worn-out  mercies. 
They  loudly  call  to  him  to  yield  ; 

He  hoarsely  pays  them  back  in  curses. 
His  blood-shot  eye  is  wildly  roaming; 
His  firm-set  mouth  with  rage  is  foaming ; 
He  waves  his  cudgel,  with  war-cry  loud, 
And  dares  the  bravest  of  the  crowd. 
There  springs  at  his  throat  a  hungry  hound  ; 
He  dashes  its  brains  into  the  ground. 

Eob,  the  Pauper,  is  sorely  pressed. 

The  men  are  crowding  all  around  him. 
He  crushes  one  to  a  bloody  rest, 

And  breaks  again  from  the  crowd  that  bound  him. 


4  8  Farm  Legends. 

The  crash  of  a  pistol  comes  unto  him— 

A  well-sped  ball  goes  crushing  through  him; 

But  still  he  rushes  on — yet  on— 

Until,  at  last,  some  distance  won, 

He  mounts  a  fence  with  a  madman's  ease, 

And  this  is  something  of  what  he  sees: 

A  lonely  cottage,  some  tangled  grass, 

Thickets  of  thistles,  dock,  and  mullein ; 
A  forest  of  weeds  he  scarce  can  pass, 

A  broken  chimney,  cold  and  sullen ; 
Trim  housewife-ants,  with  rush  uncertain, 
The  spider  hanging  her  gauzy  curtain. 
The  Pauper  falls  on  the  dusty  floor, 
And  there  rings  in  his  failing  ear  once  more 
A  voice  as  it  might  be  from  the  dead, 
And  says,  as  it  long  ago  hath  said  : 

0  Eob,  I  have  a  word  to  say — a  cruel  word — to  you  : 

I  can  not  longer  live  a  lie — the  truth  for  air  is  calling! 

1  can  not  keep  the  secret  locked  that  long  has  been  your  due, 

Not  if  you  strike  me  to  the  ground,  and  spurn  me  in  my  foiling! 
He  came  to  me  when  first  a  cloud  across  your  smile  was  creeping- 
He  came  to  me — he  brought  to  me  a  slighted  heart  for  keeping ; 
He  would  not  see  my  angry  frown  ;   he  sought  me,  day  by  day ; 
I  flung  at  him  hot  words  of  scorn,  I  turned  my  face  away. 
I  bade  him  dread  my  husband's  rage  when  once  his  words  were  known. 
He  smiled  at  me,  and.  said  I  had  no  husband  of  my  own! 

0  Eob,  his  words  were  overtrue !  they  burned  into  my  brain  ! 
I  could  not  rub  them  out  again,  were  I  awake  or  sleeping  I 

1  saw  you  kiss  her  twice  and  thrice — rny  chidings  were  in  vain — 
And  well  I  knew  your  wayward  heart  had  wandered  from  my  keeping. 

I  counted  all  that  was  at  stake — I  bribed  my  pride  with  duty  ; 
I  knelt  before  your  manly  face,  in  worship  of  its  beauty  ; 
I  painted  pictures  for  your  eyes  you  were  too  blind  to  see ; 
I  worked  at  all  the  trades  of  love,  to  earn  you  back  to  me  ; 
I  threw  myself  upon  your  heart;   I  plead  and  prayed  to  stay; 
I  held  my  hands  to  you  for  help — you  pushed  them  both  away  ! 


Rob,  the  Pauper.  49 

He  came  to  me  again  ;  he  held  his  eager  love  to  me — 

To  me,  whose  weak  and  hungry  heart  deep  desolation  dreaded ! 

And  I  had  learned  to  pity  him  ;  but  still  my  will  was  free, 

And  once  again  I  threatened  him,  and  warned  him  I  was  wedded. 

He  bade  me  follow  him,  and  see  my  erring  fancy  righted. 

We  crept  along  a  garden  glade  by  moonbeams  dimly  lighted  ; 

She  silent  sat  'mid  clustering  vines,  though  much  her  eyes  did  speak, 

And  your  black  hair  was  tightly  pressed  unto  her  glowing  cheek.... 

It  crazed  me,  but  he  soothed  me  sweet  with  love's  unnumbered  charms ; 

I,  desolate,  turned  and  threw  myself  into  his  desolate  arms ! 

O  Rob,  you  know  how  little  worth,  when  once  a  woman  slips, 
May  be  the  striking  down  a  hand  to  save  herself  from  falling! 

Once  more  my  heart  groped  for  your  heart,  my  tired  lips  sought  your  lips ; 
But  'twas  too  late — 'twas  after  dark — and  you  were  past  recalling. 

'Tis  hard  to  claim  what  once  is  given;   my  foe  was  unrelenting; 

Vain  were  the  tempests  of  my  rage,  the  mists  of  my  repenting. 

The  night  was  dark,  the  storm  had  come,  the  fancy-stare  of  youth 

Were  covered  over  by  the  thick  unfading  cloud  of  truth  ; 

So  one  by  one  the  stars  went  back,  each  hid  its  pale  white  face, 

Till  all  was  dark,  and  all  was  drear,  and  all  was  black  disgrace. 

0  Rob,  good-by ;  a  solemn  one ! — 'tis  till  the  Judgment-day. 

You  look  about  you  for  the  boy  ?     You  never  more  shall  see  him. 
He's  crying  for  his  father  now  full  many  miles  away; 

For  he  is  mine — you  need  not  rage — you  can  not  find  or  free  him. 
We  might  have  been  so  peaceful  here,  with  nothing  of  reproving— 
We  might  have  been  so  happy  here,  with  none  to  spoil  our  loving — 
As  I,  a  guilty  one,  might  kiss  a  corpse's  waiting  brow, 

1  bend  to  you  where  you  have  fallen,  and  calmly  kiss  you  now  ; 
As  I,  a  wronged  and  injured  one,  might  seek  escape's  glad  door, 
I  wander  forth  into  the  world,  to  enter  here  no  more. 


in. 

Rob,  the  Pauper,  is  lying  in  state. 

In  a  box  of  rough-planed  boards,  unpainted, 
He  waits  at  the  poor-house  grave-yard  gate, 

For  a  home  by  human  lust  untainted. 

4 


Farm  Legends. 

They  are  crowding  around  and  closely  peering 

At  the  face  of  the  foe  who  is  past  their  fearing ; 

The  men  lift  children  up  to  see 

The  arms  of  the  man  who  was  good  for  three ; 

The  women  gaze  and  hold  their  breath, 

For  the  man  looks  kingly  even  in  death. 

Thev  have  gone  to  their  homes  anear  and  far — 
Their  joys  and  griefs,  their  loves  and  hating : 

Some  to  sunder  the  ties  that  are, 

And  some  to  cooing  and  wooing  and  mating. 

They  will  pet  and  strike,  they  will  strive  and  bl under. 

And  leer  at  their  woes  with  innocent  wonder ; 

They  will  swiftly  sail  love's  delicate  bark, 

With  never  a  helm,  in  the  dangerous  dark  ; 

They  will  ne'er  quite  get  it  understood 

That  the  Pauper's  woes  were  for  their  good. 


The  Three  Lovers.  51 


THE  THREE  LOVERS. 

HERE'S  a  precept,  young  man,  you  should  follow  with  care. 
If  you're  courting  a  girl,  court  her  honest  and  square. 

Mr.  'Liakim  Smith  was  a  hard-fisted  farmer, 

Of  moderate  wealth, 

And  immoderate  health, 
Who  fifty-odd  years,  in  a  stub-and-twist  armor 

Of  callus  and  tan, 

Had  fought  like  a  man 

His  own  dogged  progress,  through  trials  and  cares, 
And  log-heaps  and  brush-heaps  and  wild-cats  and  bears, 
And  agues  and  fevers  and  thistles  and  briers, 
Poor  kinsmen,  rich  foemen,  false  saints,  and  true  liars ; 
Who  oft,  like  the  "  man  in  our  town,"  overwise, 
Through  the  brambles  of  error  had  scratched  out  his  eyes, 
And  when  the  unwelcome  result  he  had  seen, 

Had  altered  his  notion, 

Reversing  the  motion, 

And  scratched  them  both  in  again,  perfect  and  clean  ; 
Who  had  weathered  some  storms,  as  a  sailor  might  say, 
And  tacked  to  the  left  and  the  right  of  his  way, 
Till  he  found  himself  anchored,  past  tempests  and  breakers, 
Upon  a  good  farm  of  a  hundred-odd  acres. 

As  for  'Liakim's  wife,  in  four  words  may  be  told 

Her  whole  standing  in  life  : 

She  was  'Liakim's  wife. 

Whereas  she'd  been  young,  she  was  now  growing  old, 
But  did,  she  considered,  as  well  as  one  could, 
When  HE  looked  on  her  hard  work,  and  saw  that  'twas  good. 


52  Farm  Legends. 

The  family  record  showed  only  a  daughter; 

But  she  had  a  face, 

As  if  each  fabled  Grace 

in  a  burst  of  delight  to  her  bosom  had  caught  her, 
( >r  as  if  all  the  flowers  in  each  Smith  generation 
Had  blossomed  at  last  in  one  grand  culmination. 
Style  lingered  unconscious  in  all  of  her  dresses; 
She'd  starlight  for  glances,  and  sunbeams  for  tresses. 
Wherever  she  went,  with  her  right  royal  tread, 
Kach  youth,  when  he'd  passed  her  a  bit,  turned  his  head  ; 
And  so  one  might  say,  though  the  figure  be  strained, 
She  had  turned  half  the  heads  that  the  township  contained 

Now  Bess  had  a  lover — a  monstrous  young  hulk ; 

A  farmer  by  trade — 

Strong,  sturdy,  and  staid ; 

A  man  of  good  parts — if  you  counted  by  bulk  ; 
A  man  of  great  weight— by  the  scales;  and,  indeed, 
A  man  of  some  depth — as  was  shown  by  his  feed. 
His  face  was  a  fat  exclamation  of  wonder; 
His  voice  was  not  quite  unsuggestive  of  thunder  ; 
His  laugh  was  a  cross  'twixt  a  yell  and  a  chuckle; 

He'd  a  number  one  foot, 

And  a  number  ten  boot, 

And  a  knock-down  reserved  in  each  separate  knuckle. 
He'd  a  heart  mad  in  love  with  the  girl  of  his  choice, 
"Who  made  him  alternately  mope  and  rejoice, 
By  dealing  him  one  day  discouraging  messes, 
And  soothing  him  next  day  with  smiles  and  caresses. 

Now  Bess  had  a  lover,  who  hoped  her  to  wed 

A  rising  young  lawyer — more  rising  than  read  ; 

Whose  theories  all  were  quite  startling;  and  who, 
Like  many  a  chap 
In  these  days  of  strange  hap, 

Was  living  on  what  he  expected  to  do ; 

While  his  landlady  thought  'twould  have  been  rather  neat 
Could  he  only  have  learned, 
Till  some  practice  was  earned, 


The   Three  Lovers.  53 

To  subsist  upon  what  he  expected  to  eat. 
He  was  bodily  small,  howe'er  mentally  great, 
And  suggestively  less  than  a  hundred  in  weight. 

Now  Bess  had  a  lover — young  Patrick  ;  a  sinner, 

And  lad  of  all  work, 

From  the  suburbs  of  Cork, 

Who  worked  for  her  father,  and  thought  lie  could  win  her. 
And  if  Jacob  could  faithful  serve  fourteen  years  through, 

And  still  thrive  and  rejoice, 

For  the  girl  of  his  choice, 
He  thought  he  could  play  the  same  game  one  or  two. 

Now  'Liakim  Smith  had  a  theory  hid, 

And  by  egotism  fed, 

Somewhere  up  in  his  head, 
That  a  dutiful  daughter  should  always  as  bid 
Grow  old  in  the  service  of  him  who  begot  her, 

Imbibe  his  beliefs, 

Have  a  care  for  his  griefs, 
And  faithfully  bring  him  his  cider  and  water. 
So,  as  might  be  expected,  he  turned  up  his  nose, 
Also  a  cold  shoulder,  to  Bessie's  two  beaux, 
And  finally  turned  them  away  from  his  door, 
Forbidding  them  ever  to  enter  it  more  ; 
And  detailed  young  Patrick  as  kind  of  a  guard, 
With  orders  to  keep  them  both  out  of  the  yard. 
So  Pat  took  his  task,  with  a  treacherous  smile, 

And  bullied  the  small  one, 

And  dodged  the  big  tall  one, 
And  slyly  made  love  to  Miss  Bess  all  the  while. 

But  one  evening,  when  'Liakim  and  wife  crowned  their  labors 

With  praise  and  entreating 

At  the  village  prayer-meeting, 

And  Patrick  had  stepped  for  a  while  to  some  neighbor's, 
The  lawyer  had  come,  in  the  trimmest  of  dress, 

And,  dapper  and  slim, 

And  small,  e'en  for  him, 


54  Farm  Legends. 

Was  holding  a  session  of  court  with  Miss  Bess. 

And  Bess,  sly  love-athlete,  was  suited  first  rate 

At  a  flirtation -mi  11  with  this  legal  light-weight  ; 

And  was  listening  to  him,  as  minutes  spun  on, 
Of  pleas  he  could  make, 
And  of  fees  he  would  take, 

And  of  suits  that  he  should,  in  the  future,  have  won  ; 

When  just  as  the  cold,  heartless  clock  counted  eight, 

Miss  Bessie's  quick  ear  caught  a  step  at  the  gate. 

"  Tis  mother !"  she  cried  :   "  oh,  go  quick,  I  implore ! 

But  father  '11  drive  'round  and  come  in  the  back-door! 

You  can  not  escape  them,  however  you  turn  ! 

So  hide  for  a  while — let  me  see — in  this  churn  !" 

The  churn  was  quite  large  enough  for  him  to  turn  in — 

Expanded  out  so, 

By  machinery  to  go, 

'Twould  have  done  for  a  dairy-man-Cy clops  to  churn  in 
'Twas  fixed  for  attaching  a  pitman  or  lever, 
To  go  by  a  horse-power — a  notion  quite  clever, 
Invented  and  built  by  the  Irishman,  Pat, 
Who  pleased  Mrs.  'Liakim  hugely  by  that. 

The  lawyer  went  into  the  case  with  much  ease, 
And  hugged  the  belief 
That  the  cause  would  be  brief, 

And  settled  himself  down  with  hardly  a  squeeze. 

And  Bess  said,  "Keep  still,  for  there's  plenty  of  room,'"' 

And  shut  down  the  cover,  and  left  him  in  gloorn. 

But  scarcely  were  matters  left  decently  so, 
In  walked — not  her  mother, 
But — worry  and  bother  ! — 

The  mammoth  young  former,  whose  first  name  was  Joe. 

And  he  gleefully  sung,  in  a  heavy  bass  tone, 
Which  came  in  one  note 
From  the  depths  of  his  throat, 

"I'm  glad  I  have  come,  since  I've  found  you  alone. 

Let's  sit  here  a  while,  by  this  kerosene  light, 


The  Three  Lovers. 

An'  spark  it  a  while  now  with  all  of  our  might." 

And  Bessie  was  willing;  and  so  they  sat  down, 

The  maiden  so  fair  and  the  farmer  so  brown. 

They  talked  of  things  great,  and  they  talked  of  things  small, 


55 


"AND  BESS  SAID,  'KKKP  STILL,  FOR  TIIKKK'S  PLENTY  OF  ROOM, 
AND  SHUT  DOWN  THE  COVER,  AND  LEFT  HIM  IN  GLOOM." 

Which  none  could  condemn, 
And  which  may  have  pleased  them, 
But  which  did  not  interest  the  lawyer  at  all ; 
And  Bessie  seemed  giving  but  little  concern 
To  the  feelings  of  him  she  had  shut  in  the  churn. 


56  Farm  Legends. 

Till  Bessie  just  artlessly  mentioned  the  man, 
And  Joe  with  a  will  to  abuse  him  began, 
And  called  him  full  many  an  ignoble  name, 

Appertaining  to  "  Scrubby," 

And  "Shorty,"  and  "Stubby," 
And  other  descriptions  not  wide  of  the  same; 
And  Bessie  said  naught  in  the  lawyer's  behalf, 
But  seconded  Joe,  now  and  then,  with  a  laugh  ; 
And  the  lawyer  said  nothing,  but  winked  at  his  fate. 

And,  somewhat  abashed, 

And  decidedly  dashed, 

Accepted  Joe's  motions  sans  vote  or  debate. 
And  several  times  he,  with  policy  stern, 
Repressed  a  desire  to  break  out  of  the  churn, 
"Well  knowing  he  thus  might  get  savagely  used, 

And  if  not  quite  eaten, 

Would  likely  be  beaten, 
And  probably  injured  as  well  as  abused. 

But  now  came  another  quick  step  at  the  door. 
And  Bessie  was  fearful,  the  same  as  before  ; 
And  tumbling  Joe  over  a  couple  of  chairs, 

With  a  general  sound 

Of  thunder  all  'round, 

She  hurried  him  up  a  short  pair  of  back-stairs  ; 
And  close  in  the  garret  condemned  him  to  wait 
Till  orders  from  her,  be  it  early  or  late. 
Then  tripping  her  way  down  the  staircase,  she  said. 
"I'll  smuggle  them  off  when  the  folks  get  to  bed.5' 

It  was  not  her  parents  ;  'twas  crafty  young  Pat, 
Returned  from  his  visit;  and  straightway  lie  sat 
Beside  her,  remarking,  The  chairs  were  in  place, 
So  he  would  sit  near  her,  and  view  her  sweet  face. 
So  gayly  they  talked,  as  the  minutes  fast  flew, 
Discussing  such  matters  as  both  of  them  knew, 
While  often  Miss  Bessie's  sweet  laugh  answered  back, 
For  Pat,  be  it  known, 
Had  some  wit  of  his  own, 


The   Three  Lovers. 

And  in   irony's  efforts  was  sharp  as  a  tack. 

And  finally  Bessie  his  dancing  tongue  led, 
By  a  sly  dextrous  turn, 
To  the  man  in  the  churn, 

And  the  farmer,  who  eagerly  listened  o'erhead  ; 

Whereat  the  young  Irishman  volubly  gave 


57 


"  SKVKKAL    TIMES    HE,    WITH    POLICY    STERN, 
REPRESSED    A    DESIRE    TO    BREAK    OUT    OF    THE    CHURN." 

A  short  dissertation, 
Whose  main  information 
Was  that  one  was  a  fool,  and  the  other  a  knave. 

Slim  chance  there  must  be  for  the  world  e'er  to  learn 
How  pleasant  this  was  to  the  man  in  the  churn  ; 


58  Farm  Legends. 

Though,  to  borrow  a  figure  lent  by  his  position, 
He  was  doubtless  in  somewhat  a  worked-up  condition. 
It  may  ne'er  be  sung,  and  it  may  ne'er  be  said, 
How  well  it  was  liked  by  the  giant  o'erhead. 
He  lay  on  a  joist — for  there  wasn't  any  floor — 

And  the  joists  were  so  few, 

And  so  far  apart  too, 

He  could  not,  in  comfort,  preempt  any  more  ; 
And  he  nearly  had  knocked  through  the  plastering  quite, 
And  challenged  young  Pat  to  a  fair  and  square  fight ; 
But  he  dared  not  do  elsewise  than  Bessie  had  said, 
For  fear,  as  a  lover,  he  might  lose  his  head. 

But  now  from  the  meeting  the  old  folks  returned, 
And  sat  by  the  stove  as  the  fire  brightly  burned ; 
And  Patrick  came  in  from  the  care  of  the  team  ; 
And  since  in  the  house  there  was  overmuch  cream, 
He  thought  that  the  horses  their  supper  might  earn, 

And  leave  him  full  way 

To  plow  early  next  day, 
By  working  that  night  for  a  while  at  the  churn. 

The  old  folks  consented ;  and  Patrick  went  out, 
Half  chuckling,  for  he  had  a  shrewd  Irish  doubt, 
From  various  slight  sounds  he  had  chanced  to  discern, 
That  Bess  had  a  fellow  shut  up  in  the  churn. 

The  lawyer,  meanwhile,  in  hfs  hiding-place  cooped, 
Low-grunted  and  hitched  and  contorted  and  stooped, 
But  hung  to  the  place  like  a  man  in  a  dream ; 
And  when  the  young  Irishman  went  for  the  team, 
To  stay  or  to  fly,  he  could  hardly  tell  which  ; 

But  hoping  to  get 

Neatly  out  of  it  yet, 
He  concluded  to  hang  till  the  very  last  hitch. 

The  churn  was  one  side  of  the  house,  recollect, 

So  rods  with  the  horse-power  outside  could  connect ; 

And  Bess  stood  so  near  that  she  took  the  lamp's  gleam  in 


The  Three  Lovers.  61 

While  her  mother  was  cheerfully  pouring  the  cream  in  ; 

Who,  being  near-sighted,  and  minding  her  cup, 

Had  no  notion  of  what  she  was  covering  up ; 

But  the  lawyer,  meanwhile,  had  he  dared  to  have  spoke, 

Would  have  owned  that  he  saw  the  whole  cream  of  the  joke. 

But  just  as  the  voice  of  young  Patrick  came  strong 
And  clear  through  the  window,   ':A11  ready!  go  'long!" 
And  just  as  the  dasher  its  motion  began, 

Stirred  up  by  its  knocks, 

Like  a  jack-in-the-box 

He  jumped  from  his  damp,  dripping  prison — and  ran, 
And  made  a  frog-leap  o'er  the  stove  and  a  chair, 
With  some  crisp  Bible  words  not  intended  as  prayer. 

All  over  the  kitchen  he  rampaged  and  tore, 

And  ran  against  every  thing  there  but  the  door; 

Tipped  over  old  'Liakim  flat  on  his  back, 

And  left  a  long  trail  of  rich  cream  on  his  track. 

"  Ou  !  ou!  'tis  a  ghost!"  quavered  'Liakirn's  wife; 

"A  ghost,  if  I  ever  saw  one  in  my  life!" 

"  The  devil !"  roared  'Liakim,  rubbing  his  shin. 

"No!  no!"  shouted  Patrick,  who  just  then  came  in: 

"It's  only  a  lawyer;  the  devil  ne'er  runs — 
To  bring  on  him  a  laugh- 
In  the  shape  of  a  calf; 

It  isn't  the  devil  ;  it's  one  of  his  sons ! 

If  so  that  the  spalpeen  had  words  he  could  utther, 

He'd  swear  he  loved  Bessie,  an'  loved  no  one  butther." 

Now  Joe  lay  full  length  on  the  scantling  o'erhead, 

And  tried  to  make  out 

What  it  all  was  about, 

By  list'ning  to  all  that  was  done  and  was  said  ; 
But  somehow  his  balance  became  uncontrolled, 
And  he  on  the  plastering  heavily  rolled. 
It  yielded  instanter,  came  down  with  a  crash, 
And  fell  on  the  heads  of  the  folks  with  a  smash. 
And  there  his  plump  limbs  through  the  orifice  swung, 


62  Farm  Legends. 

And  he  caught  by  the  arms  and  disgracefully  hung, 
His  ponderous  body,  so  clumsy  and  thick, 
Wedged  into  that  posture  as  tight  as  a  brick. 
And  'Liakirn  Smith,  by  amazement  made  dumb 

At  those  legs  in  the  air 

Hanging  motionless  there, 
Concluded  that  this  time  the  devil  had  come; 
And  seizing  a  chair,  he  belabored  them  well, 
While  the  head  pronounced  words  that  no  printer  would  spell 

And  there  let  us  leave  them,  'mid  outcry  and  clatter, 
To  come  to  their  wits,  and  then  settle  the  matter; 
And  take  for  the  moral  this  inference  fair: 
Jf  you're  courting  a  girl,  court  her  honest  and  square. 


T/te  Song  of  Home.  65 


THE  SONG  OF  HOME. 

"SiNG-  me  a  song,  my  Alice,  and  let  it  be  your  choice, 

So  as  you  pipe  out  plainly,  and  give  me  the  sweet  o'  your  voice; 

An'  it  be  not  new-fashioned :  the  new-made  tunes  be  cold, 

An'  never  awake  my  fancy  like  them  that's  good  an'  old. 

Fie  on  your  high-toned  gimcracks,  with  rests  an'  beats  an'  points, 

Shaking  with  trills  an'  quavers — creakin'  in  twenty  joints ! 

Sing  me  the  good  old  tunes,  girl,  that  roll  right  off  the  tongue, 

Such  as  your  mother  gave  me  when  she  an'  I  was  young." 

So  said  the  Farmer  Thompson,  smoking  his  pipe  of  clay. 

Close  by  his  glowing  fire-place,  at  close  of  a  winter  day. 

He  was  a  lusty  fellow,  with  grizzled  beard  unshorn, 

Hair  half  combed  and  flowing,  clothing  overworn ; 

Boots  of. mammoth  pattern,  with  many  a  patch  and  rent; 

Hands  as  hard  as  leather,  body  with  labor  bent ; 

Face  of  resolution,  and  lines  of  pain  and  care, 

Such  as  the  slow  world's  vanguards  are  ever  doomed  to  bear ; 

While  from  his  eyes  the  yearnings  of  unemployed  desire 

Gleamed  like  the  fitful  embers  of  a  half-smothered  fire. 

Alice,  the  country  maiden,  with  the  sweet,  loving  face, 
Sung  these  words  to  an  old  air,  with  an  unstudied  grace : 

"There's  nothing  like  an  old  tune,  when  friends  are  far  apart, 
To  'mind  them  of  each  other,  and  draw  them  heart  to  heart. 
New  strains  across  our  senses  on  magic  wings  may  fly, 
But  there's  nothing  like  an  old  tune  to  make  the  heart  beat  high. 

*'  The  scenes  we  have  so  oft  recalled  when  once  again  we  view, 
Have  lost  the  smile  they  used  to  wear,  and  seem  to  us  untrue ; 
We  gaze  upon  their  faded  charms  with  disappointed  eye  ; 
And  there's  nothing  like  an  old  tune  to  make  the  heart  beat  high. 

5 


66  Farm  Legends. 

"We  clasp  the  hands  of  former  friends — we  feel  again  their  kiss — 
But  something  that  we  loved  in  them,  in  sorrow  now  we  miss  ; 
For  women  fade  and  men  grow  cold  as  years  go  hurrying  by  ; 
And  there's  nothing  like  an  old  tune  to  make  the  heart  beat  high 

"The  forest  where  we  used  to  roam,  we  find  it  swept  away; 
The  cottage  where  we  lived  and  loved,  it  moulders  to  decay  ; 
And  all  that  feeds  our  hungry  hearts  may  wither,  fade,  and  die; 
There's  nothing  like  an  old  tune  to  make  the  heart  beat  high." 

"  That  was  well  sung,  my  Alice,"  the  farmer  proudly  said, 
When  the  last  strain  was  finished  and  the  last  word  had  fled ; 
"  That  is  as  true  as  Gospel ;  and  since  you've  sung  so  well, 
I'll  give  you  a  bit  of  a  story  you've  never  heard  me  tell. 

"  When  the  cry  o'  the  axes  first  through  these  parts  was  heard, 

I  was  young  and  happy,  and  chipper  as  a  bird; 

Fast  as  a  flock  o'  pigeons  the  days  appeared  to  fly, 

With  no  one  'round  for  a  six  mile  except  your  mother  an'  I. 

Now  we  are  rich,  an'  no  one  except  the  Lord  to  thank ; 

Acres  of  land  all  'round  us,  money  in  the  bank ; 

But  happiness  don't  stick  by  me,  an'  sunshine  ain't  so  true 

As  when  I  was  five-an'-twenty,  with  twice  enough  to  do. 

"  As  for  the  way  your  mother  an'  I  made  livin'  go, 
Just  some  time  you  ask  her — of  course  she  ought  to  know. 
When  she  comes  back  in  the  morning  from  nursing  Rogers'  wife, 
She'll'  own  she  was  happy  in  them  days  as  ever  in  her  life. 
For  I  was  sweet  on  your  mother; — why  should  not  I  be? 
She  was  the  eral  I  had  fought  for — she  was  the  world  to  me ; 

O  O  f 

And  since  we'd  no  relations,  it  never  did  occur 

To  me  that  I  was  a  cent  less  than  all  the  world  to  her. 

"But  it  is  often  doubtful  which  way  a  tree  may  fall; 
AVhen  you  are  tol'ble  certain,  you  are  not  sure  at  all. 
When  you  are  overconscious  of  travel  in'  right — that  day 
Look  for  a  warnin'  guide-post  that  points  the  other  way. 
For  when  you  are  feeling  the  safest,  it  very  oft  falls  out 
You  rush  head-foremost  into  a  big  bull-thistle  o'  doubt. 

"'Twas  in  the  fall  o'  '50  that  I  set  out,  one  day, 

To  hunt  for  deer  an'  turkey,  or  what  come  in  my  way; 


The  Song  of  Home.  67 

And  wanderin'  through  the  forest,  my  home  I  did  not  seek 
Until  I  was  gone  from  the  cabin  the  better  part  of  a  week. 

"  As  Saturday's  sun  was  creeping  its  western  ladder  down, 
I  stopped  for  a  bit  of  supper  at  the  house  of  Neighbor  Brown. 
He  was  no  less  my  neighbor  that  he  lived  ten  miles  away  ; 
For  neighborhoods  then  was  different  from  what  they  are  to-day. 

"Now  Mrs.  Brown  was  clever — a  good,  well-meaning  soul— 

And  brought  to  time  exactly  things  under  her  control. 

By  very  few  misgoings  were  her  perfections  marred. 

She  meant  well,  with  one  trouble — she  meant  it  'most  too  hard. 

"Now  when  I  had  passed  the  time  o'  day,  and  laughed  at  Brown's  las 

jokes, 

Nat'rally  I  asked  'em  if  they  had  seen  my  folks. 
Whereat  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  quite  dangerously-wise, 
And  looked  as  if  a  jury  was  sittin'  in  her  eyes; 
And  after  a  prudent  silence  I  thought  would  never  end, 
Asked  if  my  wife  had  a  brother,  or  cousin,  or  other  friend  ; 
For  some  one,  passing  my  cabin,  she'd  heard,  had  lately  found 
Rather  a  sleek  an'  han'some  young  fellow  hanging  round ; 
Of  course  it  was  a  brother,  or  somethin'  of  that  sort? 
I  told  her  'twas  a  brother,  and  cut  my  supper  short. 

"  Which  same  was  wrong,  as  viewed  through  a  strictly  moral  eye ; 
But  who,  to  shield  his  wife's  name,  wouldn't  sometime  tell  a  lie? 
'Twas  nothing  but  a  lie,  girl,  and  for  a  lie  'twas  meant : 
If  brothers  sold  at  a  million,  she  couldn't  ha'  raised  a  cent 

"  Home  I  trudged  in  a  hurry — who  could  that  fellow  be  ? 
Home  I  trudged  in  a  hurry,  bound  that  I  would  see  ; 
And  when  I  reached  my  cabin  I  thought  'twas  only  fair 
To  peep  in  at  the  window  an'  find  out  what  was  there. 

"  A  nice,  good-fashioned  fellow  as  any  in  the  land 

Sat  by  my  wife  quite  closely,  a-holdin'  of  her  hand, 

An'  whispering  something  into  her  willin'-listenin7  ear, 

Which  I  should  judge  by  her  actions  she  rather  liked  to  hear. 


68  Farm  Legends. 

"  Now  seeing  such  singular  Join's  before  my  very  eyes, 
The  Devil  he  came  upon  me,  and  took  me  by  surprise ; 
lie  put  bis  hand  on  my  mouth,  girl,  and  never  a  word  I  said, 
But  raised  my  gun  an'  aimed  it  straight  at  the  stranger's  head. 

"  Lightly  I  touched  the  trigger ;  I  drew  a  good  long  breath — 
Mv  heart  was  full  o'  Satan,  my  aim  was  full  o'  death; 
But  at  that  very  instant  they  broke  out,  clear  an'  strong, 
A-singing,  both  together,  a  good  old-fashioned  song. 

"That  simple  little  song,  girl,  still  in  my  ears  does  ring; 

'Twas  one  I  had  coaxed  your  mother  while  courting  her  to  sing; 

Never  a  word  I  remember  how  any  verses  goes, 

But  this  is  a  little  ditty  that  every  body  knows: 

How  though  about  a  palace  you  might  forever  hang, 

You'll  never  feel  so  happy  as  in  your  own  shebang. 

"  It  woke  the  recollections  of  happy  days  an'  years — 
I  slowly  dropped  my  rifle,  an'  melted  into  tears. 


'•  It  was  a  neighbor's  daughter,  made  on  the  tomboy  plan, 

Who,  keeping  my  wife  company,  had  dressed  like  a  spruce  young  man. 

An'  full  of  new-born  praises  to  Him  where  they  belong, 

I  thanked  the  Lord  for  makin'  the  man  who  made  that  good  old  song.'' 


Paul's  run  off  with  the  Show.  69 


PAUL'S  RUN  OFF  WITH  THE  SHOW, 

JANE,  'tis  so— it  is  so! 

How  can  I — his  mother — bear  it? 

Paul's  run  off  with  the  show ! 

Put  all  his  things  in  the  garret — 

All  o'  his  working  gear ; 

He's  never  a-going  to  wear  it, 

Never  again  coming  here. 

If  he  gets  sick,  deaf,  or  blind, 

If  he  falls  and  breaks  his  leg, 

He  can  borrow  an  organ  an'  grind, 

He  can  hobble  about  and  beg. 

Let  him  run— good  luck  behind  him  f 

I  wonder  which  way  they  went? 

I  suppose  I  might  follow  an'  find  him. — 

But  no !  let  him  keep  to  his  bent ! 

I'm  never  a-going  to  go 

For  a  boy  that  runs  off  with  the  show  I 

Lay  his  books  up  in  the  chamber; 
He  never  will  want  them  now ; 
Never  did  want  them  much. 
He  al'ays  could  run  and  clamber, 
Make  somersets  on  the  mow, 
Hand-springs,  cart-wheels,  an'  such, 
And  other  profitless  turning ; 
But  when  it  came  to  learning, 
He  would  always  shirk  somehow. 

I  was  trimming  him  out  for  a  preacher, 
When  he  got  over  being  wild 


7O  Farm  Legends. 

(Tie  was  always  a  sturdy  creature — 
A  sinfully  thrifty  child) ; 
A  Cartwright  preacher,  perhaps, 
As  could  eat  strong  boiled  dinners, 
Talk  straight  to  saucy  chaps, 
And  knock  down  fightin'  sinners. 
I  told  him  of  all  Heaven's  mercies, 
Raked  his  sins  o'er  and  o'er, 
Made  him  learn  Scripture  verses, 
Half  a  thousand  or  more ; 
I  sung  the  hymn-book  through  him, 
I  whipped  the  Bible  into  him, 
In  grace  to  make  him  grow  : 
What  did  such  training  call  for? 
AYhat  did  I  name  him  Paul  for? — 
To  have  him  run  off  with  a  show  ? 

All  o'  the  wicked  things 

That  are  found  in  circus  rings, 

I  taught  him  to  abhor  'em ; 

But  he  always  was  crazy  for  'em. 

I  know  what  such  follies  be ; 

For  once  in  my  life — woe's  me — 

Let's  see — 

'Twas  the  fall  before  Paul  was  born— 

I  myself  was  crazy  for  shows. 

How  it  happened,  Goodness  knows  : 

But  howe'er  it  did  befall— 

Whate'er  may  ha'  been  the  reason — 

For  once  I  went  to  all 

The  circuses  of  the  season. 

I  watched  'em,  high  an'  low, 

Painfully  try  to  be  jolly  ; 

I  laughed  at  the  tricks  o'  the  clown : 

I  went  and  saw  their  folly, 

In  order  to  preach  it  down  : 

Little  enough  did  I  know 

That  Paul  would  run  off  with  a  show  I 


Paul's  run  off  with  the  Show. 

What  '11  they  do  with  the  boy  ? 
They'll  stand  him  upon  a  horse, 
To  his  exceeding  joy, 
To  teach  him  to  ride,  of  course. 
Sakes !  he  can  do  that  now  ! 


71 


"MY  BOY!     COME  IN!   COME  IN!" 

He  can  whip  old  Jim  to  a  jump, 

And  ride  upon  him  standing, 

And  never  get  a  thump — 

Never  a  bit  of  harm. 

He  has  trained  all  the  beasts  on  the  farm, 


72  Farm  Legends. 

From  the  ducks  to  the  brindle  cow, 
To  follow  his  commanding. 
Sakes !  that  it  should  be  so ! 
Ilim's  I've  brought  up  i'  the  bosom 
Of  church,  and  all  things  good : 
All  my  pains — I  shall  lose  'em- 
Might  have  known  that  I  would. 
I  had  hopes  beyond  my  countin', 
I  had  faith  as  big  as  a  mountain  ; 
But  somehow  I  knew  all  the  while 
He'd  turn  out  in  some  such  style — 
Always  had  that  fear. 

Well,  he's  never  comin'  back  here. 

If  he  comes  to  any  harm, 

If  he  falls  an'  sprains  his  arm, 

If  he  slips  and  breaks  his  leg, 

He  can  hobble  about  an'  beg.     • 

He  can—      Who  is  that  boy  out  there,  Jane? 

Skulkin'  'long  by  the  railroad  track, 

Head  an'  feet  all  bare,  Jane, 

One  eye  dressed  in  black? 

My  boy  !     Come  in  !  come  in  ! 

Come  in  !  come  in !  come  in  ! 

Come  in — you  sha'n't  be  hurt. 

Corne  in — you  shall  rest — you  shall  rest. 

Why,  you're  all  over  blood  an'  dirt! 

Did  they  hurt  you? — well,  well,  it's  too  bad. 

So  you  thought  the  old  home  the  best? 

You  won't  run  off  ag'in? 

Well,  come  in,  come  in,  poor  lad; 

Come  in — come  in — come  in  ! 


The  Key  to  Thomas   Heart.  73 


THE  KEY  TO  THOMAS'  HEART. 

RIDE  with  me,  Uncle  Nathan? 

I  don't  care  an'  I  do. 

My  poor  old  heart's  in  a  hurry ;  I'm  anxious  to  get  through. 
My  soul  outwalks  my  body;  my  legs  are  far  from  strong; 
An'  it's  mighty  kind  o'  you,  doctor,  to  help  the  old  man  along. 

I'm  some'at  full  o'  hustle;  there's  business  to  be  done. 
I've  just  been  out  to  the  village  to  see  my  youngest  son. 
You  used  to  know  him,  doctor,  ere  he  his  age  did  get, 
An'  if  I  ain't  mistaken,  you  sometimes  see  him  yet. 

We  took  him  through  his  boyhood,  with  never  a  ground  for  fears; 
But  somehow  he  stumbled  over  his  early  manhood's  years. 
The  landmarks  that  we  showed  him,  he  seems  to  wander  from, 
Though  in  his  heart  there  was  never  a  better  boy  than  Tom. 

He  was  quick  o'  mind  an'  body  in  all  he  done  an'  said; 
But  all  the  gold  he  reached  for,  it  seemed  to  turn  to  lead. 
The  devil  of  grog  it  caught  him,  an'  held  him,  though  the  while 
He  has  never  grudged  his  parents  a  pleasant  word  an'  smile. 

The  devil  of  grog  it  caught  him,  an'  then  he  turned  an'  said, 
By  that  which  fed  from  off  him,  he  henceforth  would  be  fed; 
An'  that  which  lived  upon  him,  should  give  him  a  livin'  o'er; 
An'  so  he  keeps  that  groggery  that's  next  to  Wilson's  store. 

But  howsoe'er  he's  wandered,  I've  al'ays  so  far  heard 
That  he  had  a  sense  of  honor,  an'  never  broke  his  word ; 
An'  his  mother,  from  the  good  Lord,  she  says,  has  understood 
That,  if  he  agrees  to  be  sober,  he'll  keep  the  promise  good. 


74  Farm  Legends. 

An'  so  when  just  this  rnornin'  these  poor  old  eyes  o'  mine 
Saw  all  the  women  round  him,  a-coaxin'  him  to  sign, 
An'  when  the  Widow  Adams  let  fly  a  homespun  prayer, 
An'  he  looked  kind  o'  wild  like,  an'  started  unaware, 

An'  glanced  at  her  an  instant,  an'  then  at  his  kegs  o'  rum, 
I  somehow  knew  in  a  minute  the  turnin'-point  had  come; 


"THE  MOTHER,  WHO  CARRIES  THE   KEY  TO  THOMAS'  HEART." 

An'  he  would  be  as  good  a  man  as  ever  yet  there's  been, 
Or  else  let  go  forever,  an'  sink  in  the  sea  of  sin. 


The  Key  to   Thomas    Heart.  75 

An'  I  knew,  whatever  efforts  might  carry  him  or  fail, 
There  was  only  one  could  help  God  to  turn  the  waverin'  scale ; 
An'  I  skulked  away  in  a  hurry — I  was  bound  to  do  my  part- 
To  get  the  mother,  who  carries  the  key  to  Thomas'  heart. 

She's  gettin'  old  an'  feeble,  an'  childish  in  her  talk; 

An'  we've  no  horse  an'  buggy,  an'  she  will  have  to  walk ; 

But  she  would  be  fast  to  come,  sir,  the  gracious  chance  to  seize, 

If  she  had  to  crawl  to  Thomas  upon  her  hands  an'  knees. 


Crawl? — walk?     No,  not  if  I  know  it!     So  set  your  mind  at  rest. 
Why,  hang  it!    I'm  Tom's  customer,  and  said  to  be  his  best! 
But  if  this  blooded  horse  here  will  show  his  usual  power, 
Poor  Tom  shall  see  his  mother  in  less  than  half  an  hour. 


76  Farm  Legends. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  STORY. 


GOOD  folks  ever  will  have  their  way — 
Good  folks  ever  for  it  must  pay. 

But  we,  who  are  here  and  everywhere, 
The  burden  of  their  faults  must  bear. 

We  must  shoulder  others'  shame — 
Fight  their  follies,  and  take  their  blame; 

Purge  the  body,  and  humor  the  mind; 
Doctor  the  eyes  when  the  soul  is  blind; 

Build  the  column  of  health  erect 
On  the  quicksands  of  neglect : 

Always  shouldering  others'  shame — 
Bearing  their  faults  and  taking  the  blame  I 


n. 

Deacon  Rogers,  he  came  to  me ; 
"  Wife  is  agoin'  to  die,"  said  he. 

"Doctors  great,  an'  doctors  small, 
Haven't  improved  her  any  at  all. 


The  Doctor's  Story. 

"Physic  and  blister,  powders  and  pills, 
And  nothing  sure  but  the  doctors'  bills! 

"Twenty  women,  with  remedies  new, 
Bother  my  wife  the  whole  day  through. 

"Sweet  as  honey,  or  bitter  as  gall — 
Poor  old  woman,  she  takes  'ern  all. 

"Sour  or  sweet,  whatever  they  choose; 
Poor  old  woman,  she  daren't  refuse. 

"So  she  pleases  whoe'er  may  call, 
An'  Death  is  suited  the  best  of  all. 

"Physic  and  blister,  powder  an'  pill — 
Bound  to  conquer,  and  sure  to  kill!" 


in. 

Mrs.  Rogers  lay  in  her  bed, 

Bandaged  and  blistered  from  foot  to  head. 

Blistered  and  bandaged  from  head  to  toe, 
Mrs.  Rogers  was  very  low. 

Bottle  and  saucer,  spoon  and  cup, 
On  the  table  stood  bravely  up; 

Physics  of  high  and  low  degree; 
Calomel,  catnip,  boneset  tea; 

Every  thing  a  body  could  bear, 
Excepting  light  and  water  and  air. 


rv. 

I  opened  the  blinds;  the  day  was  bright, 
And  God  gave  Mrs.  Rogers  some  light. 


78 


Farm  Legends. 


"I   TilUEW    THEM    AS    FAli   AS    I    COULD   THROW." 


I  opened  the  window ;   the  day  was  fair, 
And  God  gave  Mrs.  Rogers  some  air. 

Bottles  and  blisters,  powders  and  pills, 
Catnip,  boneset,  sirups,  and  squills ; 

Drugs  and  medicines,  high  and  low, 
I  threw  them  as  far  as  I  could  throw. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  my  patient  cried; 
"Frightening  Death,"  I  coolly  replied. 

"  You  are  crnzy !"  a  visitor  said : 
I  flung  a  bottle  at  his  head. 


Tke  Doctor's  Story.  79 

v. 

Deacon  Rogers  lie  came  to  me; 
"Wife  is  a-gettin'  her  health,"  said  he. 

UI  really  think  she  will  worry  through; 
She  scolds  me  just  as  she  used  to  do. 

"All  the  people  have  poohed  an'  slurred — 
All  the  neighbors  have  had  their  word; 

"'Twere  better  to  perish,  some  of  'em  say, 
Than  be  cured  in  such  an  irregular  way." 


VI. 

"Your  wife,"  said  I,  "had  God's  good  care, 
And  His  remedies,  light  and  water  and  air. 

"All  of  the  doctors,  beyond  a  doubt, 
Couldn't  have  cured  Mrs.  Rogers  without." 


TO 

The  deacon  smiled  and  bowed  his  head; 
"Then  your  bill  is  nothing,"  he  said. 

"  God's  be  the  glory,  as  you  say ! 

God  bless  you,  doctor!  good-day!   good-day!" 


VIII. 

If  ever  I  doctor  that  woman  again, 
I'll  give  her  medicine  made  by  men, 


8o 


Farm  Legends. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BABY. 

"Tha'rt  welcome,  little  bonny  brid, 
But  shouldn't  ha'  come  just  when  tha'  did: 
Teitnes  are  bad." 

English  Ballad. 

HOOT!   ye  little  rascal!    ye  come  it  on  me  this  way, 
Crowdin'  yerself  amongst  us  this  blusterin'  winter's  day, 
Knowin'  that  we  already  have  three  of  ye,  an'  seven, 
An'  tryin'  to  make  yerself  out  a  Christmas  present  o'  Heaven  ? 


Ten  of  ye  have  we  now,  Sir,  for  this  world  to  abuse ; 

An'  Bobbie  he  have  no  waistcoat,  an'  Nellie  she  have  no  shoes, 

An'  Sammie  he  have  no  shirt,  Sir  (I  tell  it  to  his  shame), 

An'  the  one  that  was  just  before  ye  we  ain't  had  time  to  name! 

An'  all  o'  the  banks  be  smashin',  an'  on  us  poor  folk  fall ; 
An'  Boss  he  whittles  the  wages  when  work's  to  be  had  at  all ; 


The  Christmas  Baby. 

A 


An'  Tom  he  have  cut  his  foot  off,  an'  lies  in  a  woful  plight, 
An'  all  of  us  wonders  at  rnornin'  as  what  we  shall  eat  at  night; 

An'  but  for  your  father  an'  Sandy  a-findin'  somewhat  to  do, 
An'  but  for  the  preacher's  woman,  who  often  helps  us  through, 
An'  but  for  your  poor  dear  mother  a-doin'  twice  her  part, 
Ye'd  'a  seen  us  all  in  heaven  afore  ye  was  ready  to  start! 


2  Farm  Legends. 

An'  now  ye  have  come,  ye  rascal!    so  healthy  an'  fat  an'  sound, 
A-weighhr,  I'll  wager  a  dollar,  the  full  of  a  dozen  pound! 
With  yer  mother's  eyes  a  flashin',  yer  father's  flesh  an'  build, 
An'  a  good  big  mouth  an'  stomach  all  ready  for  to  be  filled ! 

No,  no!    don't  cry,  my  baby!    hush  up,  my  pretty  one! 
Don't  get  my  chaff'  in  yer  eye,  boy — I  only  was  just  in  fun. 
Ye'll  like  us  when  ye  know  us,  although  we're  cur'us  folks; 
But  we  don't  get  much  victual,  an'  half  our  livin'  is  jokes! 

Why,  boy,  did  ye  take  me  in  earnest?   come,  sit  upon  my  knee; 
I'll  tell  ye  a  secret,  youngster,  I'll  name  ye  after  me. 
Ye  shall  have  all  yer  brothers  an'  sisters  with  ye  to  play, 
An'  ye  shall  have  yer  carriage,  an'  ride  out  every  day ! 


Why,  boy,  do  ye  think  ye'll  suffer?      I'm  gettin'  a  trifle  old, 
But  it  '11  be  many  years  yet  before  I  lose  my  hold ; 
An'  if  I  should  fall  on  the  road,  boy,  still,  them's  yer  brothers,  there, 
An'  not  a  rogue  of  'em  ever  would  see  ye  harmed  a  hair! 

Say !    when  ye  come  from  heaven,  my  little  namesake  dear, 

Did  ye  see,  'mongst  the  little  girls  there,  a  face  like  this  one  here? 

That  was  yer  little  sister — she  died  a  year  ago, 

An'  all  of  us  cried  like  babies  when  they  laid  her  under  the  snow! 


The  Christmas  Baby. 

Hang  it!    if  all  the  rich  men  I  ever  see  or  knew 
Came  here  with  all  their  traps,  boy,  an'  offered  'em  for  you, 
I'd  show  'em  to  the  door,  Sir,  so  quick  they'd  think  it  odd, 
Before  I'd  sell  to  another  my  Christmas  gift  from  God! 


OTHER   POEMS. 


OTHER   POEMS. 


COVER  THEM  OVER 

COVER  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers; 
Deck  them  with  garlands,  those  brothers  of  ours; 
Lying  so  silent,  by  night  and  by  day, 
Sleeping  the  years  of  their  manhood  away: 
Years  they  had  marked  for  the  joys  of  the  brave; 
Years  they  must  waste  in  the  sloth  of  the  grave. 
All  the  bright  laurels  they  fought  to  make  bloom 
Fell  to  the  earth  when  they  went  to  the  tomb. 
Give  them  the  meed  they  have  won  in  the  past; 
Give  them  the  honors  their  merits  forecast: 
Give  them  the  chaplets  they  won  in  the  strife; 
Give  them  the  laurels  they  lost  with  their  life. 
Cover  them  over — yes,  cover  them  over — 
Parent,  and  husband,  and  brother,  and  lover: 
Crown  in  your  heart  these  dead  heroes  of  ours, 
And  cover  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers. 

Cover  the  faces  that  motionless  lie, 
Shut  from  the  blue  of  the  glorious  sky : 
Faces  once  lit  with  the  smiles  of  the  gay — 
Faces  now  marred  by  the  frown  of  decay. 
Eyes  that  beamed  friendship  and  love  to  your  own  ; 
Lips  that  sweet  thoughts  of  affection  made  known ; 
Brows  you  have  soothed  in  the  day  of  distress; 
Cheeks  you  have  flushed  by  the  tender  caress. 


88  Other  Poems. 

Faces  that  brightened  at  War's  stirring  cry  ; 
Faces  that  streamed  when  they  bade  you  good-by; 
Faces  that  glowed  in  the  battle's  red  flame, 
Paling  for  naught,  till  the  Death  Angel  came. 
Cover  them  over — yes,  cover  them  over — 
Parent,  and  husband,  and  brother,  and  lover: 
Kiss  in  your  hearts  these  dead  heroes  of  ours, 
And  cover  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers. 

Cover  the  hands  that  are  resting,  half-tried, 
Crossed  on  the  bosom,  or  low  by  the  side : 
Hands  to  you,  mother,  in  infancy  thrown; 
Hands  that  you,  father,  close  hid  in  your  own  ; 
Hands  where  you,  sister,  when  tried  and  dismayed, 
Hung  for  protection  and  counsel  and  aid ; 
Hands  that  you,  brother,  for  faithfulness  knew; 
Hands  that  you,  wife,  wrung  in  bitter  adieu. 
Bravely  the  cross  of  their  country  they  bore; 
Words  of  devotion  they  wrote  with  their  gore ; 
Grandly  they  grasped  for  a  garland  of  light, 
Catching  the  mantle  of  death-darkened  night. 
Cover  them  over — yes,  cover  them  over — 
Parent,  and  husband,  and  brother,  and  lover: 
Clasp  in  your  hearts  these  dead  heroes  of  ours, 
And  cover  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers. 

Cover  the  feet  that,  all  weary  and  torn, 

Hither  by  comrades  were  tenderly  borne : 

Feet  that  have  trodden,  through  love-lighted  ways, 

Near  to  your  own,  in  the  old  happy  days ; 

Feet  that  have  pressed,  in  Life's  opening  morn, 

Eoses  of  pleasure,  and  Death's  poisoned  thorn. 

Swiftly  they  rushed  to  the  help  of  the  right, 

Firmly  they  stood  in  the  shock  of  the  fight. 

Ne'er  shall  the  enemy's  hurrying  tramp 

Summon  them  forth  from  their  death-guarded  camp; 

Ne'er,  till  Eternity's  bugle  shall  sound, 

Will  they  come  out  from  their  couch  in  the  ground. 


Cover   Them  Over.  89 

Cover  them  over — yes,  cover  them  over — 
Parent,  and  husband,  and  brother,  and  lover: 
Rough  were  the  paths  of  those  heroes  of  ours — 
Now  cover  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers. 

Cover  the  hearts  that  have  beaten  so  high, 
Beaten  with  hopes  that  were  born  but  to  die; 
Hearts  that  have  burned  in  the  heat  of  the  fray, 
Hearts  that  have  yearned  for  the  homes  far  away ; 
Hearts  that  beat  high  in  the  charge's  loud  tramp, 
Hearts  that  low  fell  in  the  prison's  foul  damp. 
Once  they  were  swelling  with  courage  and  will, 
Now  they  are  lying  all  pulseless  and  still ; 
Once  they  were  glowing  with  friendship  and  love, 
Now  the  great  souls  have  gone  soaring  above. 
Bravely  their  blood  to  the  nation  they  gave, 
Then  in  her  bosom  they  found  them  a  grave. 
Cover  them  over — yes,  cover  them  over — 
Parent,  and  husband,  and  brother,  and  lover  : 
Press  to  your  hearts  these  dead  heroes  of  ours, 
And  cover  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers. 

One  there  is,  sleeping  in  yonder  low  tomb, 
Worthy  the  brightest  of  flow'rets  that  bloom. 
Weakness  of  womanhood's  life  was  her  part; 
Tenderly  strong  was  her  generous  heart. 
Bravely  she  stood  by  the  sufferer's  side, 
Checking  the  pain  and  the  life-bearing  tide ; 
Fighting  the  swift-sweeping  phantom  of  Death, 
Easing  the  dying  man's  fluttering  breath; 
Then,  when  the  strife  that  had  nerved  her  was  o'er, 
Calmly  she  went  to  where  wars  are  no  more. 
Voices  have  blessed  her  now  silent  and  dumb; 
Voices  will  bless  her  in  long  years  to  come. 
Cover  her  over — yes,  cover  her  over — 
Blessings,  like  angels,  around  her  shall  hover ; 
Cherish  the  name  of  that  sister  of  ours, 
And  cover  her  over  with  beautiful  flowers. 


Other  Poems. 


"THEY    WHO    IN    MOTNTAIN    AND    HILI.-SIDE    AND    DEI.L 
REST    WI1EKE    THEY    \\EAKIE1),   AND    LIE    ^VHEKE    TI1EY    FELL." 

Cover  the  thousands  who  sleep  far  away — 

Sleep  where  their  friends  can  not  find  them  to-day; 

They  who  in  mountain  and  hill-side  and  dell 

Host  where  they  wearied,  and  lie  where  they  fell. 

Softly  the  grass-blade  creeps  round  their  repose; 

Sweetly  above  them  the  wild  flow'ret  blows: 

Zephyrs  of  freedom  fly  gently  o'erhead, 

Whispering  names  for  the  patriot  dead. 

So  in  our  minds  we  will  name  them  once  more, 

So  in  our  hearts  we  will  cover  them  o'er: 


Cover  Them  Over.  91 

Eoses  and  lilies  and  violets  blue 
Bloom  in  our  souls  for  the  brave  and  the  true. 
Cover  them  over — yes,  cover  them'  over — 
Parent,  and  husband,  and  brother,  and  lover: 
Think  of  those  far-away  heroes  of  ours, 
And  cover  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers. 

When  the  long  years  have  crept  slowly  away, 
E'en  to  the  dawn  of  Earth's  funeral  day; 
When,  at  the  Archangel's  trumpet  and  tread, 
Rise  up  the  faces  and  forms  of  the  dead ; 
When  the  great  world  its  last  judgment  aw;. 
When  the  blue  sky  shall  swing  open  its  gates, 
And  our  long  columns  march  silently  through, 
Past  the  Great  Captain,  for  final  review; 
Then  for  the  blood  that  has  flown  for  the  right, 
Crowns  shall  be  given,  untarnished  and  bright; 
Then  the  glad  ear  of  each  wrar-martyred  son 
Proudly  shall  hear  the  good  judgment,  "Well  done.7* 
Blessings  for  garlands  shall  cover  them  over — 
Parent,  and  husband,  and  brother,  and  lover : 
God  will  reward  those  dead  heroes  of  ours, 
And  cover  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers. 


92  Other  Poems. 


RIFTS   IN   THE    CLOUD. 

[GRADUATING  POEM,  JUNE  17, 1869.] 

LIFE  is  a  cloud — e'en  take  it  as  you  may ; 
Illumine  it  with  Pleasure's  transient  ray ; 
Brighten  its  edge  with  Virtue;   let  each  fold 
E'en  by  the  touch  of  God  be  flecked  with  gold, 
While  angel-wings  may  kindly  hover  near, 
And  angel-voices  murmur  words  of  cheer, 
Still,  life's  a  cloud,  forever  hanging  nigh, 

Forever  o'er  our  winding  pathways  spread, 
Ready  to  blacken  on  some  saddened  eye, 

And  hurl  its  bolts  on  some  defenseless  head. 

Yes,  there  are  lives  that  seem  to  know  no  ill ; 

Paths  that  seem  straight,  with  naught  of  thorn  or  hill 

The  bright  and  glorious  sun,  each  welcome  day, 

Flashes  upon  the  flowers  that  deck  their  way, 

And  the  soft  zephyr  sings  a  lullaby, 

'Mid  rustling  trees,  to  please  the  ear  and  eye; 

And  all  the  darling  child  of  fortune  needs, 

And  all  his  dull,  half-slumbering  caution  heeds, 

While  fairy  eyes  their  watch  above  him  keep, 

Is  breath  to  live  and  weariness  to  sleep. 

But  life's  a  cloud !   and  soon  the  smiling  sky 

May  wear  the  unwelcome  semblance  of  a  frown, 
And  the  fierce  tempest,  madly  rushing  by, 

May  raise  its  dripping  wings,  and  strike  him  down ! 

When  helpless  infancy,  for  love  or  rest, 
Lies  nestling  to  a  mothers  yearning  breast, 
While  she,  enamored  of  its  ways  and  wiles 
As  mothers  only  are,  looks  down  and  smiles, 


Rifts  in  the  Cloud.  93 

And  spies  a  thousand  unsuspected  charms 
In  the  sweet  babe  she  presses  in  her  arms, 
While  he,  the  love-light  kindled  in  his  eyes, 
Sends  to  her  own,  electrical  replies, 
A  ray  of  sunshine  comes  for  each  caress, 
From  out  the  clear  blue  sky  of  happiness. 
But  life's  a  cloud !   and  soon  the  smiling  face 

The  frowns  and  tears  of  childish  grief  may  know, 
And  the  love-language  of  the  heart  give  place 

To  the  wild  clamor  of  a  baby's  woe. 

The  days  of  youth  are  joyful  in  their  way ; 

Bare  feet  tread  lightly,  and  their  steps  are  gay. 

Parental  kindness  grades  the  early  path, 

And  shields  it  from  the  storm-king's  dreaded  wrath. 

But  there  are  thorns  that  prick  the  infant  flesh, 

And  bid  the  youthful  eyes  to  flow  afresh, 

Thorns  that  maturer  nerves  would  never  feel, 

With  wounds  that  bleed  not  less,  that  soon  they  heaL 

When  we  look  back  upon   our  childhood  days, 

Look  down  the  long  and  sweetly  verdant  ways 

Wherein  we  gayly  passed  the  shining  hours, 

We  see  the  beauty  of  its  blooming  flowers, 

We  breathe  its  fresh  and  fragrant  air  once   more, 

And,  counting  all  its  many  pleasures  o'er, 

And  giving  them  their  natural  place  of  chief, 

Forget  our  disappointments  and  our  grief. 

Sorrows  that  now  were  light,  then  weighed  us  down, 

And  claimed  our  tears  for  every  surly  frown. 

For  life's  a  cloud,  e'en  take  it  as  we  will, 

The  changing  wind  ne'er  banishes  or  lifts; 
The  pangs  of  grief  but  make  it  darker  still, 

And  happiness  is  nothing  but  its  rifts. 

There  is  a  joy  in  sturdy  manhood  still ; 
Bravery  is  joy ;    and  he  who  says,  I  WILL, 
And  turns,  with  swelling  heart,  and  dares  the  fates, 
While  firm  resolve  upon  his  purpose  waits, 


94 


Other  Poems. 

Is  happier  for  the  deed;   and  he  whose  share 
Is  honest  toil,  pits  that  against  dull  care. 
And  yet,  in  spite  of  labor,  faith,  or  prayer, 

Dark  clouds  and  fearful  o'er  our  paths  are  driven 
They  take  the  shape  of  monsters  in  the  air, 

And  almost  shut  our  eager  gaze  from  heaven ! 

Disease  is  there,  with  slirny,  loathsome  touch, 
With  hollow,  blood-shot  eyes  and  eager  clutch, 
Longing  to  strike  us  down  with  pangs  of  pain, 
And  bind  us  there,  with  weakness'  galling  chain. 
Ruin  is  there,  with  cunning  ambush  laid, 
Waiting  some  panic  in  the  ranks  of  trade, 
Some  profitless  endeavor,  or  some  trust 
By  recreant  knave  abused,  to  snatch  the  crust 
From  out  the  mouths  of  them  we  love  the  best, 
And  bring  gaunt  hunger,  an  unwelcome  guest. 
Disgrace  is  there,  of  honest  look  bereft, 
Truth  in  his  right  hand,  falsehood  in  his  left, 
Pride  in  his  mouth,  the  devil  in  his  eye, 
His  garment  truth,  his  cold  black  heart  a  lie, 
Forging  the  bolts  to  blast  some  honored  name; 

Longing  to  see  some  victim  wronged  or  wrong; 
To  see  him  step  into  the  pool  of  shame, 

Or  soiled  by  loved  ones  that  to  him  belong. 

A  dark  cloud  hovers  over  every  zone — 
The  cloud  of  ignorance.     The  great  unknown, 
Defying  comprehension,  still  hangs  low 
Above  our  feeble  minds.     When  we  who  now 
Have  stumbled  'neath  the  ever-varying  load 
That  marks  the  weary  student's  royal  road, 
Have  hurried  over  verbs  in  headlong  haste, 
And  various  thorny  paths  of  language  traced ; 
Have  run  our  muddled  heads,  with  rueful  sigh, 
'Gainst  figures  truthful,  that  yet  seemed  to  lie; 
Have  peeped  into  the  Sciences,  and  learned 
How  much  we  do  not  know;   have  bravely  turned 


Rifts  in  the  Cloud.  95 

Our  guns  of  eloquence  on  forest  trees, 

And  preached  grave  doctrines  to  the  wayward  breeze; 

When  we  have  done  all  this,  the  foggy  cloud, 

With  scarce  a  rift,  is  still  above  us  bowed ; 

And  we  are  children,  on  some  garden's  verge, 

Groping  for  flowers  the  opposing  wall  beneath, 
Who,  flushed  and  breathless,  may  at  last  emerge, 

With  a  few  scanty  blossoms  for  a  wreath. 

But  never  was  a  cloud  so  thick  and  black, 

But  it  might  some  time  break,  and  on  its  track 

The  glorious  sun  come  streaming.     Never,  too, 

So  but  its  threads  might  bleach  to  lighter  hue, 

Was  sorrow's  mantle  of  so  deep  a  dye. 

And  he  who,  peering  at  the  troubled  sky, 

Looks  past  the  clouds,  or  looks  the  cloud-rifts  through, 

Or,  finding  none,  remembers  their  great  worth, 
And  strikes  them  for  himself,  is  that  man  who 

Shows  the  completest  wisdom  of  this  earth. 

When  one  stands  forth  in  Reason's  glorious  light, 

Stands  in  his  own  proud  consciousness  of  right, 

Laments  his  faults,  his  virtues  does  not  boast, 

Studies  all  creatures — and  himself  the  most — 

Knowing  the  way  wherewith  his  faults  to  meet, 

Or,  vanquished  by  them,  owning  his  defeat, 

He  pays  the  penalty  as  should  a  man, 

And  pitches  battle  with  the  foe  again ; 

When,  giving  all  their  proper  due  and  heed, 

He  yet  has  power,  when  such  shall  be  the  need, 

To  go  his  way,  unshackled,  true,  and  free, 

And  bid  the  world  go  hanged,  if  needs  must  be, 

He  strikes  a  rift  for  his  unfearing  eye 

Through  the  black  cloud  of  low  servility : 

A  cloud  that's  decked  the  Orient  all  these  years; 

'Neath  whose  low-bending  folds,  'mid  groans  and  tears, 

Priestcraft  has  heaped  its  huge,  ill-gotten  gains, 

And  tyrants  forged  their  bloody,  clanking  chains; 


96  Other  Poems. 

A  cloud,  that  when  the  Mayflowers  precious  cnp 
The  misty,  treacherous  deep  held  proudly  up, 
By  waves  that  leaped  and  dashed  each  other  o'er, 
But  onward  still  the  ark  of  Freedom  bore, 
Some  fair  and  peaceful  Ararat  to  find, 
Plumed  its  black  wings,  and  swept  not  far  behind. 
To-day  it  lowers  o'er  this  great,  free  land— 

O'er  farms  and  workshops,  offices  and  spires- 
Its  baleful  shadow  casts  on  every  hand, 

And  darkens  Church  and  State  and  household  fires. 

It  is  a  thing  to  pity  and  to  blame, 
A  useless,  vile,  humiliating  shame, 
A  silent  slander  on  the  Heaven-born  soul, 
Decked  with  the  signet  of  its  own  control, 
A  flaw  upon  the  image  of  our  God, 
When  men,  obedient  to  some  Mogul's  nod- 
When  men,  the  sockets  of  whose  addled  brains 
Are  blessed  with  some  illuminate  remains 
Wherefrom  the  glim  of  reason  still  is  shed, 
Blow  out  the  light,  and  send  their  wits  to  bed ; 
And,  taking  as  their  sole  dictator,  then. 
Some  little,  thundering  god  of  speech  or  pen, 
Aping  submissively  the  smile  or  frown 
Of  some  great  brazen  face  that  beats  them  down, 
Or  silenced  by  some  lubricated  tongue, 
Covered  with  borrowed  words  and  neatly  hung — 
They  yield  their  judgments  up  to  others'  wills, 
And  take  grave  creeds  like  sugar-coated  pills; 
And,  with  their  weakness  tacitly  confessed, 
Like  the  un feathered  fledgelings  of  a  nest, 
When  the  old  bird  comes  home  with  worms  and  flies- 
.     With  half  a  smile  and  half  a  knowing  frown, 
They  open  wide  their  mouths,  and  shut  their  eyes, 
And  seem  to  murmur  softly,  "Drop  it  down" 

He  who  will  creep  about  some  great  man's  feet, 
The  honeyed  fragrance  of  his  breath  to  meet, 


Rifts  in  the  Cloud.  97 

Or  follow  him  about,  with  crafty  plan, 
And  cringe  for  smiles  and  favors,  is  no  man. 
A  fraction  of  a  man,  and  all  his  own, 
Although  his  numerator  be  but  one, 
With  unity  divided  up  so  fine 

That  thousands  range  themselves  beneath  the  line — 
Ay,  one  so  insignificantly  small 
That  quick  accountants  count  him  not  at  all- 
Is  better  far,  and  vastly  nobler,  too, 

Than  some  great  swelling  cipher  among  men, 
Naught  of  itself,  and  nothing  else  to  do 

Except  to  help  some  little  one  count  ten ! 

Let  us  e'en  strike,  with  courage  true  endowed. 

Straight  at  the  centre  of  this  murky  cloud, 

And  sweep  its  worthless  vapor  from  the  earth. 

Take  sense  for  coin;  opinions  at  their  worth; 

Conviction  at  its  cost;  dictation,  when 

Our  minds  and  souls  are  bankrupt — hardly  then ! 

When  Freedom's  sons  and  daughters  will  do  this, 

Our  land  will  know  a  day  of  happiness, 

Fit  for  such  joy  as  never  yet  was  seen, 

E'en  when  Emancipation  tried  her  keen 

Bright  blade  upon  the  galling  chains  of  steel. 

And  stamped  the  action  with  the  nation's  seal. 

E'en  when  the  cable  its  initial  spark 

Brought  flashing  through  the  ocean's  deep  and  dark ; 

E'en  when  was  fixed,  with  far-resounding  strokes, 

With  song,  and  praise,  and  thankfulness,  and  mirth, 
The  golden  fastening  of  the  chain  that  yokes 

The  two  great  restless  oceans  of  the  earth ! 

But  over  all,  and  round  about  us  spread, 

Hangs  the  black  cloud  of  Death :  a  thunder-hend, 

Yet  ominously  silent;  moving  on, 

While  from  its  threatening  folds,  so  deep  and  dark, 
The  forked  lightning,  ever  and  anon, 

Shoots  for  some  life,  and  never  fails  its  mark. 

7 


98  Other  Poems. 

There  was  one  classmate  is  not  here  to-day; 

Many  an  oak  is  blasted  on  its  way, 

Many  a  growing  hope  is  overthrown. 

What  might  have  been,  his  early  growth  had  shown  ? 

\Vhat  was,  our  love  and  tears  for  him  may  tell; 

He  lived,  he  toiled,  he  faded,  and  he  fell. 

When  our  friend  lay  within  that  narrow  room 

Men  call  a  coffin — in  its  cheerless  gloom 

Himself  the  only  tenant,  and  asleep 

In  a  long  slumber,  terrible  and  deep; 

When  at  the  open  door  his  pale,  sad  face 

Appeared  to  us,  without  a  look  or  trace 

Of  recognition  in  its  ghastly  hue, 

Soon  to  be  hid  forever  from  our  view ; 

When,  with  his  sightless  eyes  to  heaven  upturned, 

Wherefrom  his  royal  soul  upon  them  burned. 

He  waited  for  his  last  rites  to  be  said, 

With  the  pathetic  patience  of  the  dead ; 

When  tenderly  his  manly  form  we  lay 

In  its  last  couch,  with  covering  of  clay; 

Who  in  that  mournful  duty  had  a  part, 

But  felt  the  cloud  of  Death  upon  his  heart? 

But  when  we  thought  how  his  unfettered  soul. 

Free  from  his  poor  sick  body's  weak  control, 

Pluming  its  wings  at  the  Eternal  throne, 

Might  take  through  realms  of  space  its  rapid  flight, 
And  rind  a  million  joys  to  us  unknown, 

The  cloud  was  rifted  by  a  ray  of  light. 

Old  class  of  '69 !   together,  still, 

We've  journeyed  up  the  rough  and  toilsome  hill; 

Seeking  the  gems  to  labor  ne'er  denied, 

Plucking  the  fruits  that  deck  the  mountain-side,. 

Now,  in  the  glory  of  this  summer  day, 

We  part,  and  each  one  goes  his  different  way. 

Let  each,  with  hope  to  fire  his  yearning  soul, 

Still  hurry  onward  to  the  shining  goal. 

The  way  at  times  may  dark  and  weary  seem, 

No  ray  of  sunshine  on  our  path  may  beam, 


Rifts  in  the  Cloud. 

The  dark  clouds  hover  o'er  us  like  a  pall, 
And  gloom  and  sadness  seem  to  compass  all ; 
But  still,  with  honest  purpose,  toil  we  on ; 

And  if  our  steps  be  upright,  straight,  and  true, 
Far  in  the  east  a  golden  light  shall  dawn, 

A.nd  the  bright  smile  of  Grod  come  bursting  through. 


99 


100 


Other  Poems. 


SOME  TIME. 

0  STRONG  and  terrible  Ocean, 

0  grand  and  glorious  Ocean, 
0  restless,  stormy  Ocean,  a  million  fathoms  o'er! 
When  never  an  eye  was  near  thee  to  view  thy  turbulent  glory, 
When  never  an  ear  to  hear  thee  relate  thy  endless  story, 


What  didst  thou  then,  0  Ocean?     Didst  toss  thy  foam  in  air, 
With  never  a  bark  to  fear  thee,  and  never  a  soul  to  dare? 


Some   Time.  101 

"Oh,  I  was  the  self-same  Ocean, 
The  same  majestic  Ocean, 

The  strong  and  terrible  Ocean,  with  rock-embattled  shore ; 
I  threw  my  fleecy  blanket  up  over  my  shoulders  bare, 
I  raised  my  head  in  triumph,  and  tossed  my  grizzled  hair; 

For  I  knew  that  some  time — some  time — 
White-robed  ships  would  venture  from  out  of  the  placid  bay, 
Forth  to  my  heaving  bosom,  my  lawful  pride  or  prey; 

I  knew  that  some  time — some  time — 
Lordly  men  and  maidens  my  servile  guests  would  be, 
And  hearts  of  sternest  courage  would  falter  and  bend  to  me." 

O  deep  and  solemn  Forest, 
0  sadly  whispering  Forest,       , 

0  lonely  moaning  Forest,  that  murmureth,  -evtirropro !  '>,';'>',  '' '  ' 
When  never  a  footstep  wandered  across  thy  sheltered  meadows, 
When  never  a  wild  bird  squandered  his  music  'mid  thy  shadows, 
What  didst  thou  then,  O  Forest?     Didst  robe  thyself  in  green,. 

And  pride  thyself  in  beauty  the  while  to  be  unseen? 
"Oh,  I  was  the  self-same  Forest, 
The  same  low-whispering  Forest, 

The  softly  murmuring  Forest,  and  all  of  my  beauties  wore. 
I  dressed  myself  in  splendor  all  through  the  lonely  hours; 
I  twined  the  vines  around  me,  and  covered  my  lap  with  flowers; 

For  I  knew  that  some  time — some  time — 
Birds  of  beautiful  plumage  would  flit  and  nestle  here ; 
Songs  of  marvelous  sweetness  would  charm  my  listening  ear; 

1  knew  that  some  time — some  time — 

Lovers  would  gayly  wander  'neath  my  protecting  boughs, 
And  into  the  ear  of  my  silence  would  whisper  holy  vows." 

0  fair  and  beautiful  Maiden, 

0  pure  and  winsome  Maiden, 
O  grand  and  peerless  Maiden,  created  to  adore! 
When  no  love  came  to  woo  thee  that  won  thy  own  love-treasure,. 
When  never  a  heart  came  to  thee  thy  own  heart-wealth  could  measure 
What  didst  thou  then,  0  Maiden?     Didst  smile  as  thou  smilest  now,     ' 
With  ne'er  the  kiss  of  a  lover  upon  thy  snow-white  brow? 


I02  Other  Poems. 

"Oh,  I  was  the  self-same  Maiden, 

The  simple  and  trusting  Maiden, 

The  happy  and  careless  Maiden,  with  all  of  my  love  in  store. 
I  gayly  twined. my  tresses,  and  cheerfully  went  my  way; 
I  took  no  thought  of  the  morrow,  and  cared  for  the  cares  of  the  day 

For  I  knew  that  some  time — some  time— 
Into  the  path  of  my  being  the  Love  of  my  life  would  glide, 
And  we  by  the  gates  of  heaven  would  wander  side  by  side." 


Brothers  and  Friends.  103 


BROTHERS  AND  FRIENDS. 

[REUNION  or  ALPHA  KAPPA  PHI  SOCIETY,  JUNE  1C,  1875.] 

WOULD  I  might  utter  all  rny  heart  can  feel! 

But  there  are  thoughts  weak  words  will  not  reveal 

The  rarest  fruitage  is  the  last  to  fall; 

The  strongest  language  hath  no  words  at  all. 

When  first  the  uncouth  student  comes  in  sight — 
A  sturdy  plant,  just  straggling  toward  the  light- 
Arriving  at  his  future  classic  home, 
He  gazes  at  the  high-perched  college  dome, 
Striving,  through  eyes  with  a  vague  yearning  dim, 
To  spy  some  future  glory  there  for  him, 
A  child  in  thought,  a  man  in  strong  desire, 
A  clod  of  clay,  vexed  by  a  restless  fire, 

When,  with  hard  hands,  and  uncongenial  locks, 
And  clothes  as  speckled  as  young  Jacob's  flocks, 
Homesick  and  heart-sick,  tired  and  desolate, 
He  leans  himself  'gainst  Learning's  iron  gate, 
While  all  the  future  frowns  upon  his  track, 
And  all  the  past  conspires  to  pull  him  back; 
When,  with  tired  resolution  in  his  looks, 
He  bends  above  the  cabalistic  books, 
And  strives,  with  knitted  forehead  throbbing  hot, 
To  learn  what  older  students  have  forgot; 
And  wonders  how  the  Romans  and  the  Greeks 
Could  cry  aloud  and  spare  their  jaws  and  cheeks; 
And  wants  the  Algebraic  author  put 
On  an  equation,  tied  there,  head  and  foot, 


IO4  Other  Poems. 

Which  then,  with  all  Induction's  boasted  strength, 

May  be  expanded  to  prodigious  length  ; 

When  he  reflects,  with  rueful,  pain-worn  phiz, 

What  a  sad,  melancholy  dog  he  is, 

And  how  much  less  unhappy  and  forlorn 

Are  all  those  students  who  are  not  yet  born ; 

When  Inexperience  like  a  worm  is  twined 

Around  the  clumsy  ringers  of  his  mind, 

And  Discipline,  a  stranger  yet  unknown, 

Struts  grandly  by  and  leaves  him  all  alone; 

What  cheers  him  better  than  to  feel  and  see 

Some  other  one  as  badly  off  as  he? 

Or  the  sincere  advice  and  kindly  aid 

Of  those  well  worked  in  Study's  curious  trade? 

What  help  such  solace  and  improvement  lends 

As  the  band-grasp  of  Brothers  and  of  Friends? 

When,  with  a  wildly  ominous  halloo, 

The  frisky  Freshman  shuffles  into  view, 

And  shouts  aloud  the  war-cry  of  his  clan, 

And  makes  friends  with  the  devil  like  a  man ; 

When,  looking  upward  at  the  other  classes, 

He  dubs  them  as  three  tandem-tearns  of  asses, 

And,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  does  it  for, 

Vows  against  them  unmitigated  war, 

And  aims  to  show  them  that  though  they  may  tread 

In  stately,  grand  procession  o'er  his  head, 

The  animated  pathway  that  they  scorn, 

May  sometimes  bristle  with  a  hidden  thorn  ; 

When,  with  a  vigilance  that  to  nothing  yields, 

He  scans  the  fruitage  of  the  neighboring  fields, 

And  in  the  solemn  night-time  doth  entwine 

Affection's  fingers  round  the  melon-vine ; 

When  the  tired  wagon  from  its  sheltering  shed 

To  strange,  uncouth  localities  is  led, 

And,  with  the  night  for  a  dissecting-room, 

Is  analyzed  amid  the  friendly  gloom ; 

When  the  hushed  rooster,  cheated  of  his  cry, 

From  his  spoiled  perch  bids  this  vain  world  good-bye; 


Brothers  and  Friends.  105 

When,  in  the  chapel,  an  unwilling  guest, 

And  living  sacrifice,  a  cow  doth  rest; 

When  from  the  tower,  the  bell's  notes,  pealing  down. 

Rouse  up  the  fireman  from  the  sleeping  town, 

Who,  rushing  to  the  scene,  with  duty  fired, 

Finds  his  well-meant  assistance  unrequired, 

And,  creeping  homeward,  steadily  doth  play 

Upon  the  third  commandment  all  the  way ; 

When  are  played  off,  with  mirth-directed  aims, 

At  the  staid  Alma  Mater,  various  games, 

As  feline  juveniles  themselves  regale 

In  the  lithe  folds  of  the  maternal  tail, 

And  when  these  antics  have  gone  far  enough, 

Comes  from  her  paw  a  well-considered  cuff, 

What  more  to  soothe  the  chastened  spirit  tends 

Than  sympathy  from  Brothers  and  from  Friends? 

When  the  deep  Sophomore  has  well  begun 

The  study  of  his  merits,  one  by  one, 

And  found  that  he,  a  bright  scholastic  blade, 

Is  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made ; 

Discovers  how  much  greater  is  his  share 

Of  genius  than  he  was  at  first  aware ; 

When,  with  a  ken  beyond  his  tender  age, 

He  sweeps  o'er  History's  closely  printed  page, 

Conjecturing  how  this  world  so  long  endured, 

With  his  co-operation  unsecured ; 

When,  with  his  geometrical  survey 

Trigonometrically  brought  in  play, 

He  scans  two  points,  with  firm,  unmoved  design 

To  join  them  sooner  than  by  one  straight  line; 

When  he,  with,  oratorio  hand  astir, 

Rolls  back  the  tide  of  ages — as  it  were; 

When  Cicero  he  decides  for  reading  fit, 

And  tolerates  happy  Horace  for  his  wit; 

When  he  across  Zoology  takes  sight, 

To  see  what  creatures  were  created  right, 

And  looks  the  plants  that  heaven  has  fashioned  through, 

To  see  if  they  were  rightly  finished,  too ; 


io6  Other  Poems. 

When  be  his  aid  to  any  cause  can  lend, 

In  readiness,  on  short  notice,  to  ascend 

From  any  well-worn  point,  secure  and  soon, 

In  his  small  oratorical  balloon, 

Expecting,  when  his  high  trip's  end  appears, 

Descent  upon  a  parachute  of  cheers; 

When  he  decides,  beneath  a  load  of  care, 

What  whiskered  monogram  his  face  shall  wear; 

When,  from  his  mind's  high  shoulders  cropping  out, 

Linguistic  feathers  constantly  do  sprout, 

Which,  ere  they  meet  the  cool  outsider's  scoff, 

Kequire  a  quiet,  friendly  picking-off; 

What  better  to  this  operation  lends 

Than  the  critiques  of  Brothers  and  of  Friends? 

When  the  spruce  Junior,  not  disposed  to  shirk, 

Begins  to  get  down  fairly  to  his  work, 

Strives  to  run  foremost  in  the  college  race, 

Or  at  least  fill  a  creditable  place : 

When  he  bears,  o'er  the  rough  and  hard  highway. 

The  heat  and  burden  of  the  college  day, 

And  hastes — his  mental  lungs  all  out  of  breath — 

As  if  it  were  a  race  of  life  and  death ; 

When  with  some  little  doubt  his  brain  is  fraught, 

That  he's  not  quite  so  brilliant  as  he  thought, 

And  he  would  strengthen  his  lame  talent  still, 

By  wrapping  'round  the  bandage  of  his  will ; 

When,  undergoing  the  reaction  drear 

That  follows  up  the  Sophomoric  year, 

He  finds  each  task  much  harder  than  before, 

And  tarries  long  at  every  phrase's  door, 

And  pauses  o'er  his  dull  oration's  page, 

Then  tears  it  into  pieces  in  a  rage; 

When,  had  he  fifty  ink-stands,  he  could  throw 

Each  at  some  devil  fraught  with  fancied  woe; 

And  when,  perchance,  atop  of  all  this  gloom, 

In  his  heart's  world  there's  yet  sufficient  room 

For  Cupid  to  come  blundering  through  the  dark, 

And  make  his  sensibilities  a  mark, 


Brothers  and  Friends.  107 

And,  viewing  each  the  other  from  afar, 
Learning  and  Love  frown  miserably,  and  spar; 
What  for  his  trouble-phantoms  makes  amends 
Like  the  support  of  Brothers  and  of  Friends? 

When,  with  a  strengthened  soul  and  chastened  brain, 

The  Senior  who  has  labored  not  in  vain 

Looks  back  upon  the  four  eventful  years 

Most  fruitful  that  in  his  past  life  appears, 

When  he  stands,  somewhat  shadowed  by  remorse, 

In  the  bright  Indian  Summer  of  the  course, 

And  muses,  had  each  opportunity 

Been  seized,  how  smooth  his  present  path  might  be; 

When,  having  blundered  through  each  college  hall, 

Bumping  his  head  'gainst  Inexperience'  wall, 

There  burst  upon  him  through  the  window-panes, 

Broad  Knowledge'  deep  ravines  and  fertile  plains: 

When,  standing  at  the  door,  with  gaze  of  doubt, 

He  draws  on  his  world-wrappings,  and  looks  out 

Into  the  chillness  of  the  winter's  day, 

And  almost  wishes  that  he  still  might  stay, 

What  nearer  to  his  beating  heart  extends 

Than  parting  with  his  Brothers  and  his  Friends? 

When  he  at  last  has  bid  the  school  good-by, 

And  finds  that  many  matters  go  awry; 

Finds  much  amid  Earth's  uncongenial  fog, 

Not  mentioned  in  the  college  catalogue; 

Finds  that  The  World,  in  writing  his  name  down, 

Forgets,  somehow,  to  add  the  letters  on 

Which  serve  to  make  his  fellow-mortals  see 

How  little  rests  behind  a  big  degree; 

Finds,  also,  that  it  is  inclined  to  speak 

Elsewise  than  in  the  Latin  or  the  Greek; 

Finds  that  the  sharp  blade  of  his  brightened  mind 

Gets  dulled  upon  the  pachydermal  kind; 

That  The  World  by  Declension  understands 

The  sliding-down  of  houses,  stocks,  and  lands ; 


io8  Other  Poems. 

And  that  Translation  means,  in  this  world's  bother, 

Translation  from  one  pocket  to  another; 

Mistrusts  that  if  The  World  has,  as  is  sung, 

A  tail  by  which,  perchance,  it  may  be  slung, 

The  blessed  place  so  many  hands  infold, 

He  can  not  find  whereon  he  may  take  hold ; 

Finds  that  he  best  makes  ground  o'er  this  world's  road, 

As  he  his  college  nonsense  doth  unload  ; 

What  sweeter  sound  with  Life's  alarum  blends 

Than  the  kind  voice  of  Brothers  and  of  Friends  ? 

******* 

And  so,  to-day,  we  live  our  old  lives  o'er — 

The  Freshman  gay,  the  smiling  Sophomore, 

The  anxious  Junior,  and  the  Senior  proud, 

The  care-immersed  Alumnus,  sober-browed; 

To  shake  once  more  the  quick-responding  hand, 

To  trade  in  jokes  no  others  understand ; 

Our  fish-lines  into  Memory's  ponds  to  throw 

For  stories  which  were  left  there  long  ago 

(Which,  like  most  fishy  ventures,  as  is  known, 

Through  many  changing  years  have  bred  and  grown); 

To  beat  the  big  drum  of  our  vanity, 

To  clash  the  cymbals  of  our  boisterous  glee ; 

To  bind  again  the  old-time  friendships  fast, 

-To  fight  once  more  the  battles  of  the  past. 

Beneath  the  blue  of  the  clear  sunlit  sky, 

Beneath  the  storm-cloud,  rudely  lingering  nigh, 

From  night  to  night — from  changing  day  to  day — 

The  Alpha  Kappa  Phi  has  won  its  way. 

And  as  the  lichen  plant,  when  tempest-torn, 

And  roughly  from  its  native  hill-side  borne, 

Sucks  moisture  from  the  whirlwind's  shivering  form, 

And  grows,  while  yet  hurled  onward  by  the  storm, 

And  when  at  last  its  voyage  well  is  o'er, 

Thrives  sweeter,  purer,  stronger  than  before, 

The  Alpha  Kappa  Phi  has  ever  grown 

Stronger  for  all  the  struggles  it  has  known ; 

And,  'mid  the  smiles  and  frowns  that  heaven  out-sends, 

Our  hearts  still  beat  as  Brothers  and  as  Friends. 


Gone  Before.  109 


GONE  BEFORE. 


PULL  up  the  window-lattice,  Jane,  and  raise  me  in  my  bed, 

And  trim  my  beard,  and  brush  my  hair,  and  from  this  covering  free 

me, 
And  brace  me  back  against  the  wall,  and  raise  my  aching  head, 

And  make  me  trim,  for  one  I  love  is  coming  here  to  see  me; 
Or  if  she  do  not  see  me,  Jane,  'twill  be  that  her  dear  eyes 

Are  shut  as  ne'er  they  shut  before,  in  all  of  their  reposing; 
For  never  yet  my  lowest  word  has  failed  of  kind  replies, 

And  ever  still  my  lightest  touch  has  burst  her  eyelids'  closing; 

So  let  her  come  to  me. 

They  say  she's  coming  in  her  sleep — a  sleep  they  can  not  break; 

Ay,  let  them  call,  and  let  them  weep,  in  dull  and  droning  fashion ! 
Her  ear  may  hear  their  doleful  tones  an  age  and  never  wake; 

But  let  me  pour  into  its  depth  my  words  of  burning  passion ! 
Ay,  let  my  hot  and  yearning  lips,  that  long  have  yearned  in  vain, 

But  press  her  pure  and  sacred  cheek,  and  wander  in  her  tresses ; 
And  let  my  tears  no  more  be  lost,  but  on  her  forehead  rain, 

And  she  will  rise  and  pity  me,  and  soothe  me  with  caresses; 

So  let  her  come  to  me. 

0  silver-crested  days  agone,  that  wove  us  in  one  heart! 

0  golden  future  years,  that  urged  our  hands  to  clasp  in  striving! 
There  is  not  that  in  earth  or  sky  can  hold  us  two  apart; 

And  I  of  her,  and  she  of  me,  not  long  may  know  depriving! 
So  bring  her  here,  where  I  have  long  in  absence  pining  lain, 

While  on  my  fevered  weakness  crashed  the  castles  of  our  building' 


1 10  Other  Poems. 

And  once  together,  all  the  woe  and  weary  throbs  of  pain 
That  strove  to  cloud  our  happiness  shall  be  its  present  gilding; 

So  let  her  come  to  me. 


n. 

They  brought  her  me — they  brought  her  me — they  bore  her  to  my  bed; 

And  first  I  marked  her  coffin's  form,  and  saw  its  jewels  glisten. 
I  talked  to  her,  I  wept  to  her,  but  she  was  cold  and  dead ; 

I  prayed  to  her,  and  then  I  knew  she  was  not  here  to  listen. 
For  Death  had  wooed  and  won  my  love,  and  carried  her  away. 

How  could   she   know   my  trusting   heart,  and   then   so  sadly   grieve 

me! 
Her  hand  was  his,  her  cheek  was  his,  her  lips  of  ashen  gray ; 

Her  heart  was  never  yet  for  him,  however  she  might  leave  me; 

Her  heart  was  e'er  for  rne. 

O  waves  that  well  had  sunk  my  life,  sweep  back  to  me  again ! 

I  will  not  fight  your  coming  now,  or  flee  from  your  pursuing! 
But  bear  me,  beat  me,  dash  me  to  the  land  of  Death,  and  then 

I'll  find  the  love  Death  stole  from  me,  and  scorn  him  with  my  wooing! 
Oh,  I  will  light  his  gloomy  orbs  with  jealous,  mad  surprise ; 

Oh,  I  will  crush  his  pride,  e'en  with  the  lack  of  my  endeavor; 
The  while  T  boldly  bear  away,  from  underneath  his  eyes, 

The  soul  that  God  had  made  for  me — to  lose  no  more  forever; 

Ay,  she  will  go  with  me. 

Pull  down  the  window-lattice,  Jane,  and  turn  me  in  my  bed, 

And  not  until  the  set  of  sun  be  anxious  for  my  waking; 
And  ere  that  hour  a  robe  of  light  above  me  shall  be  spread, 

And  darkness  here  shall  show  me  there  the  morn  that  now  is  breaking. 
And  in  one  grave  let  us  be  laid — my  truant  love  and  me — 

And  side  by  side  shall  rest  the  hearts  that  once  were  one  in  beating; 
And  soon  together  and  for  aye  our  wedded  souls  shall  be, 

And  never  cloud  shall  dim  again  the  brightness  of  our  meeting, 

Where  now  she  waits  for  me. 


The  Little  Sleeper.  in 


THE  LITTLE  SLEEPER. 

THERE  is  mourning  in  the  cottage  as  the  twilight  shadows  fall, 
For  a  little  rose-wood  coffin  has  been  brought  into  the  hall, 

And  a  little  pallid  sleeper, 

In  a  slumber  colder,  deeper 

Than  the  nights  of  life  could  give  her,  in  its  narrow  borders  lies. 
With  the  sweet  and  changeful  lustre  ever  faded  from  her  eyes. 

Since  the  morning  of  her  coming,  but  a  score  of  suns  had  set, 
And  the  strangeness  of  the  dawning  of  her  life  is  with  her  yet; 

And  the  dainty  lips  asunder 

Are  a  little  pressed  with  wonder, 

And  her  smiling  bears  the  traces  of  a  shadow  of  surprise, 
But  the  wondering  mind  that  made  it  looks  no  more  from  out  her  eyes. 

'Twas  a  soul  upon  a  journey,  and  was  lost  upon  its  way ; 
'Twas  a  flash  of  light  from  heaven  on  a  tiny  piece  of  clay ; 

'Twas  more  timid,  and  yet  bolder, 

It  was  younger,  and  yet  older, 

It  was  weaker,  and  yet  stronger,  than  this  little  human  guise, 
With  the  strange  unearthly  lustre  ever  faded  from  its  eyes. 

They  will  bury  her  the  morrow;  they  will  mourn  her  as  she  died; 
I  will  bury  her  the  morrow,  and  another  by  her  side; 

For  the  raven  hair,  but  started, 

Soon  a  maiden  would  have  parted, 

Full  of  fitful  joy  and  sorrow — gladly  gay  and  sadly  wise; 
With  a  dash  of  worldly  mischief  in  her  deep  and  changeful  eyes. 

I  will  bury  her  the  morrow,  and  another  by  her  side : 

It  shall  be  a  wife  and  mother,  full  of  love  and  care  and  pride; 

Full  of  hope,  and  of  misgiving; 

Of  the  joys  and  griefs  of  living; 


1 1 2  Other  Poems. 

Of  the  pains  of  others'  being,  and  the  tears  of  others'  cries; 
With  the  love  of  God  encompassed  in  her  smiling,  weeping  eyes. 

I  will  bury  on  the  morrow,  too,  a  grandame,  wrinkled,  old  ; 

One  whose  pleasures  of  the  present  were  the  joys  that  had  been  told ; 

I  will  bury  one  whose  blessing 

Was  the  transport  of  caressing 

Every  joy  that  she  had  buried — every  lost  and  broken  prize; 
With  a  gleam  of  heaven-expected,  in  her  dim  and  longing  eyes. 

I  will  joy  for  her  to-morrow,  as  I  see  her  compassed  in, 
For  the  lips  now  pure  and  holy  might  be  some  time  stained  with  sin ; 
And  the  brow  now  white  and  stainless, 
And  the  heart  now  light  and  painless, 

Might  have  throbbed  with  guilty  passion,  and  with  sin-encumbered  sighs 
Might  have  surged  the  sea  of  brightness  in  the  bright  and  changeful  eyes. 

Let  them  bury  her  to-rnorrow — let  them  treasure  her  away ; 
Let  the  soul  go  back  to  heaven,  and  the  body  back  to  clay ; 

Let  the  future  grief  here  hidden, 

Let  the  happiness  forbidden, 

Be  for  evermore  forgotten,  and  be  buried  as  it  dies, 
And  an  angel  let  us  see  her,  with  our  sad  and  weeping  eyes. 


'Tis  Snowing.  113 


'TIS  SNOWING. 

FIRST   VOICE. 

Hurra!    'tis  snowing! 
On  street  and  house-roof,  gently  cast, 
The  falling  flakes  come  thick  and  fast; 
They  wheel  and  curve  from  giddy  height, 
And  speck  the  chilly  air  with  white! 
Come  on,  come  on,  you  light-robed  storm! 
My  fire  within  is  blithe  and  warm, 

And  brightly  glowing! 
My  robes  are  thick,  my  sledge  is  gay ; 
My  champing  steeds  impatient  neigh; 
My  silver-sounding  bells  are  clear, 
With  music  for  the  muffled  ear; 
And  she  within — my  queenly  bride — 
Shall  sit  right  gayly  by  my  side; 

Hurra!   'tis  snowing! 

SECOND   VOICE. 

Good  God!  'tis  snowing! 
From  out  the  dull  and  leaden  clouds^ 
The  surly  storm  impatient  crowds; 
It  beats  against  my  fragile  door, 
It  creeps  across  my  cheerless  floor; 
And  through  my  pantry,  void  of  fare, 
And  o'er  my  hearth,  so  cold  and  bare, 

The  wind  is  blowing; 
And  she  who  rests  her  weary  head 
Upon  our  hard  and  scanty  bed, 
Prays  hopefully,  but  hopeless  still, 
For  bright  spring  days  and  whip-poor-will ; 
8 


I 
14  Other  Poems. 

The  damp  of  death  is  at  her  brow, 
The  frost  is  at  her  feet;  and  now 
'Tis  drearily  snowing. 

FIRST  VOICE. 

Hurra!   'tis  snowing! 
Snow  on !    ye  can  not  stop  our  ride, 
As  o'er  the  white-paved  road  we  glide: 
Past  forest  trees  thick  draped  with  snow, 
Past  white-thatched  houses,  quaint  and  low 
Past  rich-stored  barn  and  stately  herd. 
Past  well-filled  sleigh  and  kindly  word, 

Right  gayly  going! 
Snow  on !    for  when  our  ride  is  o'er, 
And  once  again  we  reach  the  door, 
Our  well-filled  larder  shall  provide, 
Our  cellar-doors  shall  open  wide; 
And  while  without  'tis  cold  and  drear, 
Within,  our  board  shall  smile  with  cheer, 

Although  'tis  snowing! 

SECOND   VOICE. 

Good  God!  'tis  snowing! 
Rough  men  now  bear,  with  hurried  tread, 
My  pauper  wife  unto  her  bed ; 
And  while,  all  crushed,  but  unresigned, 
I  cringe  and  follow  close  behind, 
And  while  these  scalding,  bitter  tears— 
The  first  that  stain  my  manhood  years — 

Are  freely  flowing, 
Her  waiting  grave  is  open  wide, 
And  into  it  the  snow-flakes  glide. 
A  mattress  for  her  couch  they  wreathe; 
And  snow  above,  and  snow  beneath, 
Must  be  the  bed  of  her  who  prayed 
The  sun  might  shine  where  she  was  laid; 

And  still  'tis  snowing! 


The  Burning  of  Chicago.  \  \  5 


THE  BURNING  OF  CHICAGO. 


'TWAS  night  in  the  beautiful  city, 
The  famous  and  wonderful  city, 
The  proud  and  magnificent  city, 
The  Queen  of  the  North  and  the  West. 

The  riches  of  nations  were  gathered  in  wondrous  and  plentiful  store; 
The  swift-speeding  bearers  of  Commerce  were  waiting  on  river  and  shore; 
The  great  staring  walls  towered  skyward,  with  visage  undaunted  and  bold, 
And  said,  "We  are  ready,  0  Winter!    come  on  with  your  hunger  and 

cold! 
Sweep  down  with  your  storms  from  the  northward !  come  out  from  your 

ice-guarded  lair! 

Our  larders  have  food  for  a  nation !  our  wardrobes  have  clothing  to  spare! 
For  off  from  the  corn-bladed  prairies,  and  out  from  the  valleys  and  hills, 
The  farmer  has  swept  us  his  harvests,  the  miller  has  emptied  his  mills; 
And  here,  in  the  lap  of  our  city,  the  treasures  of  autumn  shall  rest, 
In  golden -crowned,  glorious  Chicago,  the  Queen  of  the  North  and  the 
West!" 


ii. 

'Twas  night  in  the  church -guarded  city, 

The  temple  and  altar-decked  city, 

The  turreted,  spire-adorned  city, 

The  Queen  of  the  North  and  the  West. 

And  out  from  the  beautiful  temples  that  wealth  in  its  fullness  had  made, 
And  out  from  the  haunts  that  were  humble,  where  Poverty  peacefully 

prayed, 
Where  praises  and  thanks  had  been  offered  to  Him  where  they  rightly 

belonged, 
In  peacefulness  quietly  homeward  the  worshiping  multitude  thronged. 


n6  Other  Poems. 

The  Pharisee,  laden  with  riches  and  jewelry,  costly  and  rare, 
Who  proudly  deigned  thanks  to  Jehovah  he  was  not  as  other  men  are ; 
The  penitent,  crushed  in  his  weakness,  and  laden  with  pain  and  with  sin ; 
The  outcast  who  yearningly  waited  to  hear  the  glad  bidding,  "  Come  in ;" 
And  thus  went  they  quietly  homeward,  with  sins  and  omissions  confessed, 
In  spire-adorned,  templed  Chicago,  the  Queen  of  the  North  and  the  West. 


m. 


Twas  night  in  the  sin-burdened  city, 
The  turbulent,  vice-laden  city, 
The  sin-compassed,  rogue-haunted  city, 
Though  Queen  of  the  North  and  the  West. 

And  low  in  their  caves  of  pollution  great  beasts  of  humanity  growled; 

And  over  his  money -strewn  table  the  gambler  bent  fiercely,  and  scowled ; 

And  men  with  no  seeming  of  manhood,  with  countenance  flaming  and 
fell, 

Drank  deep  from  the  fire-laden  fountains  that  spring  from  the  rivers  of 
hell; 

And  men  with  no  seeming  of  manhood,  who  dreaded  the  coming. of  day, 

Prowled,  cat-like,  for  blood-purchased  plunder  from  men  who  were  bet 
ter  than  they ; 

And  men  with  no  seeming  of  manhood,  whose  dearest-craved  glory  was 
shame, 

Whose  joys  were  the  sorrows  of  others,  whose  harvests  were  acres  of 
flame, 

Slunk,  whispering  and  low,  in  their  corners,  with  bowie  and  pistol  tight- 
pressed, 

In  rogue -haunted,  sin -cursed  Chicago,  though  Queen  of  the  North  and 
the  West. 


rv. 


'Twas  night  in  the  elegant  city, 

The  rich  and  voluptuous  city, 

The  beauty-thronged,  mansion-decked  cityr 

Gay  Queen  of  the  North  and  the  West. 


The  Burning  of  Chicago.  1 1 7 

And  childhood  was  placidly  resting  in  slumber  untroubled  and  deep ; 

And  softly  the  mother  was  fondling  her  innocent  baby  to  sleep; 

And  maidens  were  dreaming  of  pleasures  and  triumphs  the  future  should 

show, 

And  scanning  the  brightness  and  glory  of  joys  they  were  never  to  know ; 
And  firesides  were  cheerful  and  happy,  and  Comfort  smiled  sweetly  around ; 
But  grim  Desolation  and  Ruin  looked  into  the  window  and  frowned. 
And  pitying  angels  looked  downward,  and  gazed   on   their  loved   ones 

below, 
And  longed  to  reach  forth  a  deliverance,  and  yearned  to  beat  backward 

the  foe; 
But   Pleasure   and  Comfort   were   reigning,  nor   danger   was   spoken    or 

guessed, 
In  beautiful,  golden  Chicago,  gay  Queen  of  the  North  and  the  West. 


v. 

Then  up  in  the  streets  of  the  city, 
The  careless  and  negligent  city, 
The  soon  to  be  sacrificed  city, 
Doomed  Queen  of  the  North  and  the  West, 
Crept,  softly  and  slyly,  so  tiny  it  hardly  was  worthy  the  name, 
Crept,  slowly  and  soft  through  the  rubbish,  a  radiant  serpent  of  flame. 
The   South -wind   and  West -wind   came   shrieking,  "Rouse   up   in  your 

strength  and  your  ire ! 
For  many  a  year  they  have  chained  you,  and  crushed  you,  0  demon  of 

fire! 
For  many  a  year  they  have  bound  you,  and  made  you  their  servant  and 

slave ! 

Now,  rouse  you,  and  dig  for  this  city  a  fiery  and  desolate  grave! 
Freight  heavy  with  grief  and  with  wailing  her  world-scattered  pride  and 

renown ! 
Charge  straight  on  her  mansions  of  splendor,  and  battle  her  battlements 

down ! 
And  we,  the  strong  South-wind  and  West-wind,  with  thrice-doubled  fury 

possessed, 
Will  sweep  with  you  over  this  city,  this  Queen  of  the  North  and  the 

West!" 


1 1 8  Other  Poems. 

VL 

Then  straight  at  the  great,  quiet  city, 
The  strong  and  o'erconfident  city, 
The  well-nigh  invincible  city, 
Doomed  Queen  of  the  North  and  the  West. 

The  Fire-devil  rallied  his  legions,  and  speeded  them  forth  on  the  wind, 
With  tinder  and  treasures  before  him,  with  ruins  and  tempests  behind. 
The  tenement  crushed  'neath  his  footstep,  the  mansion  oped  wide  at  his 

knock ; 
And  walls  that  had  frowned  him  defiance,  they  trembled  and  fell  with 

a  shock ; 

And  down  on  the  hot,  smoking  house-tops  came  raining  a  deluge  of  fire; 
And1  serpents  of  flame  writhed  and  clambered,  and  twisted  on  steeple  and 

spire ; 

And  beautiful,  glorious  Chicago,  the  city  of  riches  and  fame, 
Was  swept  by  a  storm  of  destruction,  was  flooded  by  billows  of  flame. 
The  Fire-king  loomed  high  in  his  glory,  with  crimson  and  flame-stream 
ing  crest, 

And  grinned  his  fierce  scorn  on  Chicago,  doomed  Queen  of  the  North 
and  the  West. 


VII. 

Then  swiftly  the  quick-breathing  city, 
The  fearful  and  panic-struck  city, 
The  startled  and  fire-deluged  city, 
Bushed  back  from  the  South  and  the  West. 

And  loudly  the  fire-bells  were  clanging,  and  ringing  their  funeral  notes; 
And  loudly  wild  accents  of  terror  came  pealing  from  thousands  of  throats: 
And  loud  was  the  wagon's  deep  rumbling,  and  loud  the  wheel's  clatter 

and  creak ; 
And  loud  was  the  calling  for  succor  from  those  who  were  sightless  and 

weak ; 
And  loud  were  the  hoofs  of  the  horses,  and  loud  was  the  tramping  of 

feet; 

And  loud  was  the  gale's  ceaseless  howling  through  fire-lighted  alley  and 
street : 


i 


The  Burning  of  Chicago.  121 

But  louder,  yet  louder,  the  crashing  of  roofs  and  of  walls  as  they  fell ; 

And  louder,  yet  louder,  the  roaring  that  told  of  the  coming  of  hell. 

The  Fire -king  threw  back  his  black  mantle  from  off  his  great  blood- 
dappled  breast, 

And  sneered  in  the  face  of  Chicago,  the  Queen  of  the  North  and  the 
West. 


VIII. 

And  there,  in  the  terrible  city, 
The  panic-struck,  terror-crazed  city, 
The  flying  and  flame-pursued  city, 
The  torch  of  the  North  and  the  West, 

A  beautiful  maiden  lay  moaning,  as  many  a  day  she  had  lain, 
In  fetters  of  wearisome  weakness,  and  throbbings  of  pitiful  pain. 
The  amorous  Fire-king  came  to  her — he  breathed  his  hot  breath  on  her 

cheek ; 
She  fled  from   his  touch,  but  he  caught  her,  and  held  her,  all  pulseless 

and  weak. 

The  Fire-king  he  caught  her  and  held  her,  in  warm  and  unyielding  em 
brace  ; 

He  wrapped  her  about  in  his  vestments,  he  pressed  his  hot  lips  to  her  face; 
Then,  sated  and  palled  with  his  triumph,  he  scornfully  flung  her  awaj^, 
And,  blackened  and  crushed  in  the  ruins,  unknown  and  uncoffined,  she 

lay — 

Lay,  blackened  and  crushed  by  the  Fire-king,  in  ruined  and  desolate  rest, 
Like  ravished  and  ruined  Chicago,  the  Queen  of  the  North  and  the  West. 


IX. 

'Twas  morn  in  the  desolate  city, 
The  ragged  and  ruin-heaped  city, 
The  homeless  and  hot-smoking  city, 
The  grief  of  the  North  and  the  West. 
But  down  from  the  West  came  the  bidding,  "  O  Queen,  lift  in  courage 

thy  head ! 

Thy  friends  and  thy  neighbors   awaken,  and  hasten,  with  raiment  and 
bread." 


I22  Other  Poems. 

And  up  from  the  South  came  the  bidding,  "Cheer  up.  fairest  Queen  of 

the  Lakes! 

For  comfort  and  aid  shall  be  coming  from  out  our  savannas  and  brakes!" 
And  down  from  the  North  came  the  bidding,  "0  city,  be  hopeful  of 

cheer! 

We've  somewhat  to  spare  for  thy  sufferers,  for  all  of  our  suffering  here !" 
And  up  from  the  East  came  the  bidding,  "0  city,  be  dauntless  and  bold! 
Look  hither  for  food  and  for  raiment— look  hither  for  credit  and  gold!" 
And  all  through  the  world  went  the  bidding,  "  Bring  hither  your  choicest 

and  best, 
For  weary  and  hungry  Chicago,  sad  Queen  of  the  North  and  the  West!" 


x. 

O  crushed  but  invincible  city! 
O  broken  but  fast-rising  city ! 
O  glorious  and  unconquered  city, 
Still  Queen  of  the  North  and  the  West! 

The  long,  golden  years  of  the  future,  with  treasures  increasing  and  rare, 
Shall  glisten  upon  thy  rich  garments,  shall  twine  in  the  folds  of  thy  hair! 
From  out  the  black  heaps  of  thy  ruins  new  columns  of  beauty  shall  rise, 
And  glittering  domes  shall  fling  grandly  our  nation's  proud  flag  to  the 

skies! 
From   off  thy  wide  prairies  of  splendor  the  treasures   of  autumn   shall 

pour, 
The  breezes  shall  sweep  from  the  northward,  and  hurry  the  ships  to  thy 

shore ! 
For  Heaven  will  look  downward  in  mercy  on  those  who've  passed  under 

the  rod, 

And  happ'ly  again  they  will  prosper,  and  bask  in  the  blessings  of  God. 
Once  more  thou  shalt  stand  mid  the  cities,  by  prosperous  breezes  caressed, 
0  grand  and   unconquered  Chicago,  still  Queen  of  the  North   and  the 
West! 


The  Railroad  Holocaust.  123 


THE  RAILROAD  HOLOCAUST. 

[NEW  HAMBURG,  N.  Y.,  FEBRUARY,  1871.] 

OVER  the  length  of  the  beaten  track, 
Into  the  darkness  deep  and  black, 

Heavy  and  fast 

As  a  mountain  blast, 

With  scream  of  whistle  and  clang  of  gong, 
The  great  train  rattled  and  thundered  along. 

Travelers,  cushioned  and  sheltered,  sat, 
Passing  the  time  with  doze  and  chat; 

Thinking  of  naught 

With  danger  fraught; 
Whiling  the  hours  with  whim  and  song, 
As  the  great  train  rattled  and  thundered  along. 

Covered  and  still  the  sleepers  lay, 
Lost  to  the  dangers  of  the  way; 

Wandering  back, 

Adown  life's  track, 
A  thousand  dreamy  scenes  among; 
And  the  great  train  rattled  and  thundered  along. 

Heavily  breathed  the  man  of  care ; 
Lightly  slept  the  maiden  fair; 

And  the  mother  pressed 

Unto  her  breast 

Her  beautiful  babes,  with  yearning  strong; 
And  the  great  train  rattled  and  thundered  along. 

Shading  his  eyes  with  his  brawny  hand, 
Danger  ahead  the  driver  scanned ; 

And  he  turned  the  steam, 

For  the  red  light's  gleam 


124  Other  Poems. 

Flashed  warning  to  him  there  was  something  wrong; 
But  the  great  train  rattled  and  thundered  along. 

"Down  the  brakes!"  rang  the  driver's  shout: 
"Down  the  brakes!"  sang  the  .whistle  out: 

But  the  speed  was  high, 

And  the  danger  nigh, 

And  Death  was  waiting  to  build  his  pyre ; 
And  the  train,  dashed  into  a  river  of  fire. 

Into  the  night  the  red  flames  gleamed; 
High  they  leaped  and  crackled  and  streamed: 

And  the  great  train  loomed, 

Like  a  monster  doomed, 

In  the  midst  of  the  flames  and  their  ruthless  ire — 
In  the  murderous  tide  of  a  river  of  fire. 

Roused  the  sleeper  within  his  bed ; 
A  crash,  a  plunge,  and  a  gleam  of  red, 

And  the  sweltering  heat 

Of  his  winding-sheet 

Clung  round  his  form,  with  an  agony  dire; 
And  he  moaned  and  died  in  a  river  of  fire. 

A-nd  they  who  were  spared  from  the  fearful  death, 
Thanked  God  for 'life,  with  quickened  breath, 

And  groaned  that,  too  late, 

From  a  terrible  fate 

To  rescue  their  comrades  was  their  desire, 
Ere  they  sunk  in  a  river  of  death  and  fire. 

Pity  for  them  who,  helpless,  died, 
And  sunk  in  the  river's  merciless  tide; 

And  blessings  infold 

The  driver  bold, 

Who,  daring  for  honor,  and  not  for  hire, 
Went  down  with  his  tram  in  the  river  of  fire. 


The  Cable.  125 


THE  CABLE. 

PEAL  the  clanging  bell! 

Thunder  the  brazen  gun ! 
Over  the  earth  in  triumph  swell 

The  notes  of  a  victory  won! 
Not  over  field  and  ditch  and  corse ; 
Not  by  musketry,  cannon,  and  horse; 
Not  by  skirmishes  bloody  and  fell ; 
Not  by  the  whiz  of  shot  and  shell ; 
But  men  of  will  and  thought, 

Men  of  muscle  and  brain, 

Have  planned,  and  toiled,  and  suffered,  and  fought 
And  conquered  the  raging  main ! 

Far  from  an  Eastern  shore, 

By  the  second  ark  is  brought, 
Spanning  the  dusky  distance  o'er, 

A  line  of  glowing  thought! 

Dashing  through  ripples  and  torrents  and  waves, 
Courting  the  gloom  of  mariners'  graves; 
Hastily  threading  the  ocean  aisles, 
And  bringing  to  naught  three  thousand  miles! 
For  men  of  will  and  thought, 

Men  of  muscle  and  brain, 

Have  planned,  and  toiled,  and  suffered,  and  fought, 
And  conquered  the  raging  main ! 

Time  in  his  car,  indeed, 

Flits  fast  from  place  to  place; 
But  restless  Thought  has  dared  his  speed, 

And  Thought  has  won  the  race! 


126  Other  Poems. 

Man  is  as  naught  in.  Time's  fierce  clasp, 
But  Thought  can  escape  his  greedy  grasp; 
And  Time  shall  have  perished,  by-and-by, 
But  the  soul  of  Thought  can  never  die! 
Thunder  the  guns  as  you  ought! 

Well  may  the  church-bells  chime! 
For  man,  with  the  Heaven-given  sword  of  Thought, 
lias  conquered  the  Scythe  of  Time! 


Skip  "City  of  Boston?  127 


SHIP  "CITY  OF  BOSTON." 

"We  only  know  she  sailed  away, 
And  ne'er  was  heard  of  more." 

WAVES  of  the  ocean  that  thunder  and  roar, 
Where  is  the  ship  that  we  sent  from  our  shore? 
Tell,  as  ye  dash  on  the  quivering  strand, 
Where  is  the  crew  that  comes  never  to  land? 
Where  are  the  hearts  that,  un fearing  and  gay, 
Broke  from  the  clasp  of  affection  away? 


Where  are  the  faces  that,  smiling  and  bright, 
Sailed  for  the  death-darkened  regions  of  night? 
Waves  of  the  ocean,  that  thunder  and  roar, 
Where  is  the  ship  that  we  sent  from  our  shore? 

Storms  of  the  ocean,  that  bellow  and  sweep, 
Where  are  the  friends  that  went  forth  on  the  deep  ? 
Where  are  the  faces  ye  paled  with  your  sneer? 
Where  are  the  hearts  ye  have  frozen  with  fear  ? 


128  Other  Poems. 

Where  is  the  maiden,  young,  tender,  and  fair? 
Where  is  the  grandsire,  of  silvery  hair? 
Where  is  the  glory  of  womanhood's  time? 
Where  the  warm  blood  of  man's  vigor  and  prime? 
Storms  of  the  ocean,  that  bellow  and  pour, 
Where  is  the  ship  that  we  sent  from  our  shore? 

Birds  of  the  ocean,  that  scream  through  the  gale, 
What  have  }7e  seen  of  a  wind-beaten  sail? 
Perched  ye  for  rest  on  the  shivering  mast, 
Beaten,  and  shattered,  and  bent  by  the  blast? 
Heard  ye  the  storm-threatened  mariner's  plea, 
Birds  of  the  bitter  and  treacherous  sea? 
Heard  ye  no  message  to  carry  away 
Home  to  the  hearts  that  are  yearning  to-day? 
Birds  of  the  ocean,  that  hover  and  soar, 
Where  is  the  ship  that  we  sent  from  our  shore? 

Depths  of  the  ocean,  that  fathomless  lie, 
Where  is  the  crew  that  no  more  cometh  nigh? 
What  of  the  guests  that  so  silently  sleep 
Low  in  thy  chambers,  relentlessly  deep? 
Cold  is  the  couch  they  have  haplessly  won ; 
Long  is  the  night  they  have  entered  upon ; 
Still  must  they  sleep  till  the  trumpet  o'erhead 
Summons  the  sea  to  uncover  its  dead. 
Depths  of  the  ocean,  with  treasures  in  store, 
Where  is  the  ship  that  we  sent  from  our  shore? 


The  Good  of  the  Future.  129 


THE  GOOD  OF  THE  FUTURE. 

WHY  is  the  mire  in  the  trodden  street. 
And  the  dark  stream  by  the  sewer  borne, 

Spurned  from  even  under  our  feet, 

Grudged  by  us  e'en  the  look  of  scorn  ? 
There  is  fresh  grass  in  its  gloom — 
There  are  sweetness  and  bloorn ; 
There  is  pulse  for  men  to  eat — 
There  are  golden  acres  of  wheat. 

But  so  it  is,  and  hath  ever  been : 

The  good  of  the  future  is  e'er  unseen. 

Why  is  the  mud  of  humanity  spurned 

E'en  from  the  tread  of  the  passer-by  ? 
Why  is  the  look  of  pity  turned 

From  the  bare  feet  and  the  downcast  eye? 

There  is  virtue  yet  to  spring 

From  this  poor  trodden  thing; 

There  are  germs  of  godlike  power 

In  the  trials  of  this  hour; 
But  so  it  is,  and  hath  ever  been  : 
The  man  of  the  future  is  e'er  unseen. 


130 


Other  Poems. 


THE  JOYS  THAT  ARE  LEFT. 

IF  the  sun  have  been  gone  while  we  deemed  it  might  shine; 
If  the  day  steal  away  with  no  hope-bearing  sign ; 
If  the  night,  with  no  sight  of  its  stars  or  its  moon, 
Bat  such  clouds  as  it  hath,  closes  down  on  our  path  over-dark  and  o'er- 
soon; 

If  a  voice  we  rejoice  in  its  sweetness  to  hear, 
Breathe  a  strain  for  our  pain  that  glides  back  to  our  ear; 
If  a  friend  mark  the  end  of  a  page  that  was  bright, 
Without  pretext  or  need,  by  some  reptile-like  deed  that  coils  plain  in 
our  sight; 

If  life's  charms  in  our  arms  grow  a-tired  and  take  wing; 
If  the  flowers  that  are  ours  turn  to  nettles  and  sting; 
If  the  home  sink  in  gloom  that  we  labored  to  save, 
And  the  garden  we  trained,  when  its  best  bloom  is  gained,  be  enriched 
by  a  grave; 

Shall  we  deem  that  life's  dream  is  a  toil  and  a  snare? 
Shall  we  lie  down  and  die  on  the  couch  of  despair? 
Shall  we  throw  needless  woe  on  our  sad  heart  bereft? 
Or,  grown  tearfully  wise,  look  with  pain-chastened  eyes  at  the  joys  that 
are  left? 

For  the  tree  that  we  see  on  the  landscape  so  fair, 
When  we  hie  to  it  nigh,  may  be  fruitless  and  bare; 
While  the  vine  that  doth  twine  'neath  the  blades  of  the  grass, 
With  sweet  nourishment  rife,  holds  the  chalice  of  life  toward  our  lips  as 
we  pass. 


The  Joys  that  are  Left. 

So  with  hope  let  us  grope  for  what  joys  we  may  find ; 
Let  not  fears,  let  not  tears  make  us  heedless  or  blind; 
Let  us  think,  while  we  drink  the  sweet  pleasures  that  are, 
That  in  sea  or  in  ground  many  gems  may  be  found  that  outdazzle  the 
star. 

There  be  deeds  may  fill  needs  we  have  suffered  in  vain, 
There  be  smiles  whose  pure  wiles  may  yet  banish  our  pain, 
And  the  heaven  to  us  given  may  be  found  ere  we  die; 
For  God's  glory  and  grace,  and  His  great  holy  place,  are  not  all  in  the 
sky. 


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